Green Hair, Bluegrass
by katyastark
Summary: "Jesus Christ, get this asshole off the stage!" "Bakugo, Yagi said you can't heckle when you're on the clock!" Kirishima, his perpetually sunny coworker chides him from behind the staff picks shelf he's restocking. "Besides, this guy's not half bad!" Open Mic Night at Plus Ultra Books is the bane of Katsuki's existence.
1. Bloodshot Eyes

_It's empty where you were_

_Just a big gaping hole_

_Now I tried every bottle_

_Every pill that I know_

_But time baby time_

_Works better than wine_

_And bloodshot eyes_

Katsuki hates his job, but not enough to quit. Actually, he only hates his job enough to quit every first Friday night of the month. Twelve nights out of the year is not enough to make him his quit a job, so he suffers—but not in silence.

"Jesus Christ, get this asshole off the stage!"

"Bakugo, Yagi said you can't heckle when you're on the clock!" Kirishima, his perpetually sunny coworker chides him from behind the staff picks shelf he's restocking. "Besides, this guy's not half bad!"

Open Mic Night at Plus Ultra Books is and will forever be the bane of Katsuki's existence, or at least until he graduates and gets a real job or gets fed up and quits, whichever comes first. For some idiotic reason, Open Mic Night nets a lot of profit at the bookstore-slash-coffee-shop just off campus in which he works part-time. That's what he gets for choosing a university with both a stellar arts program and a kickass pre-med track. All the hipster liberal arts majors swarm the bookshop like flies on shit every first Friday of the month to hear bullshit wannabes play their sad acoustic indie rock, and Katsuki is but an unwilling bystander.

_I went to the mountains_

_I thought it might help_

_I wrote some songs_

_But they were shitty as hell_

_Only works when I'm broken_

_Four inches from dying_

_And at my best_

"Oof, baby boy is going through something," Ashido says as she dumps coffee beans in the grinder, occasionally glancing at the crooning performer. Her biggest complaint about Open Mic Night is having to wait for the performances to end so she can use the grinder. "He's got a nice voice, though. A bit weepy, but nice."

The performer in question is currently assaulting Katsuki's ears with the most pathetic ballad he's ever had the misfortune to hear, complete with a fucking harmonica riff. Who plays the harmonica? Isn't that the most bullshit instrument in existence, next to the triangle and the tambourine?

_If you know what I know_

_And I think that you do_

_You'd head to the country_

_For a minute or two_

_And lie on the earth_

_And for better or worse_

_Let it swallow you whole_

"Is it over? Thank god, it's over," Katsuki bellows. He might have permanent ear damage from the wailing harmonica. His complaining is only mildly drowned out by the half-hearted clapping of the gathered crowd. He makes eye contact with the idiot onstage, and he immediately knows the guy heard him because he looks just a bit put-off. Katsuki flips him off before disappearing behind a bookshelf, but not quickly enough that he misses the guy give a surprised jolt.

"Um… thank you. I teach guitar lessons. If anyone's interested, you can find my number on the bulletin out front."

There's another bout of pity clapping and some microphone feedback, and Katsuki knows the next sucker is ascending the steps to take the stage even though he's hidden himself away in the storage room at the back of the store.

When he comes back out, and some melancholic girl is reciting some spoken word garbage that's either about her boyfriend or Jesus, he finds that neither Ashido, nor Kirishima are working. Instead, they're chatting up the world's worst harmonica player by the coffee counter. Bakugo's blood pressure skyrockets. This _always_ happens, and Katsuki is always left picking up the slack because his chatty coworkers can't multitask.

He hefts the box of books he's carrying onto the counter and drops it with a loud _thud._ Everyone—including the person performing (if you could call it that)—gapes at him in the low lighting.

"Jeez, Bakugo. You're going to give me a heart attack!" Kirishima puts a meaty hand on his chest and Katsuki rolls his eyes at his antics.

"The sooner we unpack this shit the sooner we can close up and go home," Katsuki says, looking pointedly at Kirishima, trying to impress upon him how shitty his work ethic is with just his eyes.

"I'm talking to a customer," he says loftily, gesturing at the nameless performer. He's got bushy green hair and he's dressed like every other person attending Open Mic Night, a bulky thrift-store sweater, fashionably distressed jeans, and combat boots that look too clean to have ever seen any hard work, much less combat.

"Hi," he says, stretching out a hand. "I'm Midoriya Izuku. Nice to meet you."

Katsuki's mouth pinches with distaste, staring at his outstretched hand like there's a dead fish on the end of it. The hand drops slowly, taking the hint.

"He was asking if we'd play his demo around the store, maybe stock a few copies," Ashido says lightly, her voice at an acceptable volume out of respect for the performers.

"It'd mean a lot to me! I'm just trying to get my name out locally," the freckled musician beams at Katsuki, completely ignoring his scowl, and holds a CD with cheap-looking cover art in Katsuki's direction.

"I will literally set this place on fire if I have to listen to a harmonica wheeze at me for eight hours at day. Absolutely fucking _not."_ Katsuki shoves the offending CD back into Midoriya's chest.

"So, less harmonica. Noted." The nerd takes out a small leather bound notebook and scrawls a quick note. "So, are you the owner, then? Bakugo, was it?"

"Do I look like the kind of person who would willingly own a bookstore?"

"I… don't know how to answer that?" Midoriya gives him a confused look, and looks to Ashido and Kirishima for help.

"He's not the owner. He's just naturally bossy," Ashido says. Kirishima plucks the CD out of Midoriya's hand. "I'll ask my boss and let you know. Write down your contact info and I'll have him get in touch with you."

"Thanks," he says, but instead of writing his name down he hands Kirishima a simple card, printed with his name, number, email address, and the idiotically obvious title _guitarist. _

"Open Mic performers get a free coffee right?"

"Right! Ashido, get this man a latte," Kirishima says, and somehow he sounds even friendlier than usual.

"With vanilla, please," Midoriya says, smiling sheepishly. Katsuki groans and takes the box to the nearest bookshelf, resigned to the fact that they're never going to do their jobs.

He can still hear the inane conversation they're having every now and then over the banging cups and the squealing espresso machine behind the counter.

"You're definitely one of the better Open Mic performers we've seen. You've got a great voice!"

"Really? Your coworker didn't seem to like it."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. The only thing worse than overconfidence is someone fishing for compliments.

"He hates everything. Don't take it personally," Ashido says. "The harmonica _was _a little grating, though."

Katsuki chuckles, feeling triumphant. _Fucking stupid harmonica._

"It's not for everyone. Thanks for the feedback!"

"What kind of music is that anyway? It's not the typical coffee shop indie rock," Kirishima asks.

"Bluegrass, but I do indie rock, too, I guess."

"Bluegrass… like country?"

Katsuki can somehow hear the musician wince.

"Not...really. Similar roots, but I don't really think they're the same genre."

"Right. Well, I'll definitely buy your CD if we end up stocking it!"

"Thanks. I'm gonna get going. Thanks for the latte."

Katsuki finishes stocking the books and heads back to the counter to yell at his coworkers. They're still bickering behind the counter.

"Dibs!" They both say, pointing at each other in a heated standoff.

"You can't call dibs on a person," Katsuki says, entering the conversation, albeit a bit reluctantly. The sooner he can shut this shit down, the sooner they can get to closing the shop.

"I laid the groundwork! Who's the one who got his number, after all?"

"Yagi, technically," Ashido says, and Katsuki _almost _laughs at the way Kirishima's smile drops off abruptly.

"Irrelevant," he says, recovering his smile and waving his hand in forced nonchalance.

"That's a big word for you, Kirishima," Katsuki says idly, taking a rag and wiping off the counter, since it doesn't seem like Ashido plans to. Ashido barks a laugh and goes to clear the grounds out of the machine.

"He's _cute," _Kirishima says dreamily. "And his _voice!"_

"He really was good. Bakugo, I think you hurt his feelings."

"Like I give a fuck."

"But… cute! You don't think so?" Kirishima says, restocking the coffee filters—like that's helping.

"I think youre a disaster gay. Go make yourself useful and boot out the Open Mic people, it's closing time."

—

Two weeks. Two weeks of blissful silence go by before Katsuki comes face to face with the green-haired nuisance who's name he's already forgotten. It's a slow Monday, so slow that Katsuki is the only one working that day, covering both the coffee counter and the cash register on the book side of the store.

"Hi," he says, dressed in pretty much the same thing he wore for Open Mic Night. Katsuki groans—he can't help it.

"Welcome to Plus Ultra, what can I get you?" He asks, doing his best to affect a customer service voice and give him that Plus Ultra welcome Yagi is always going on about.

"Is your boss in today? I was hoping I could talk to him about stocking my CD." The guy looks like he's trying not to be nervous, but he's failing miserably. He keeps trying to make deliberate, forceful eye contact, only to break it and look down at his fidgeting hands.

"He's not."

"Oh. Hmm."

"What?" Katsuki barks.

"Nothing! I just didn't plan to get this far into the conversation." He wringing the hem of his sweater nervously, and it irks Katsuki. He rolls his eyes and goes back to taking inventory. He always does inventory on Mondays. It's the only time when the shop is empty enough during the day to do it. He's completely forgotten about the musician, making notes about the different types of coffee they have stocked and what they need to reorder soon.

Someone clears their throat and Katsuki looks up, annoyed that he lost count.

"What?"

"Can I get a latte?"

Katsuki has to tell himself not to snap. He's not made for the world of customer service. He's surprised Yagi hasn't fired him yet for all the verbal abuse his customers take at Katsuki's hands. Instead of responding with a cheery smile, like Ashido or Kirishima might do, he grabs a cup from the stack with excessive force.

"What's your name again? Deku, or whatever?" He asks, mostly as a formality. He's already written _Deku _on the cup because he couldn't care less if that was his name or not.

"Izuku," he says, and the way his eyes linger on the marker in Katsuki's hand tells him that he noticed his actual name wouldn't be going on the cup no matter what he said. Katsuki adds two pumps of vanilla syrup to the cup before he starts fiddling with the espresso machine because Katsuki can't remember a name to save his life, but he's never forgotten an order.

There's a long silence between them while the espresso is dispensed, dripping from the machine at an agonizingly slow pace. Katsuki steams the milk while he waits.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No," he says reflexively, picking up the little saucer of espresso and adding it to the to go cup. The cup of milk turns a pleasing shade of beige and he pops a lid on it, placing it on the counter in front of Deku.

"$4.80," he mutters, more than ready to have his only customer out of his hair so he can go back to cataloguing inventory.

"What was so bad about the song I sang? Seriously, be brutally honest. I can take it." The guy's eyes are wide, like a puppy's, seeking approval, but there's also a hint of determination that Katsuki doesn't entirely despise.

"Other than the shitty harmonica?"

The guy laughs, and slaps a bill on the counter.

"Yes, besides the harmonica."

He plucks the same notebook from his pocket and finds a page half-marked with writing. His pen settles on the page, and he looks expectantly at Katsuki. Katsuki wonders, for a moment, why he would care about Katsuki's opinion. Does he think Katsuki's some shitty music major who can give any real advice?

"Your lyrics made me want to blow my brains out," he says, just for something to say, really.

"Okay, but like… in a bad way?" He asks, moving to a nearby armchair, biting the top of his pen. He looks like he's settling in, and that's the last thing Katsuki wants.

"Is there any other way to take a statement like that?"

Deku looks like he's thinking hard about what Katsuki asked, tapping his pen against his lips thoughtfully.

"Well, they're not cheery lyrics. It's supposed to hurt, but does it resonate?" He looks up at Katsuki again with those big, stupid eyes. Katsuki grimaces.

Before he can say anything, though, he's saved by the bell. The bell on the door chimes as Kirishima walks in, ready to help Katsuki with the expected night rush of studious coffee addicts. A soft gasp escapes Kirishima's lips when he sees Deku, still poring over his notes.

"Midoriya! Hi! What are you doing here?" Kirishima asks, looking more than a little frantic as he tries to subtly fix his messy hair.

"Hey. I was hoping to meet your boss, but no dice." He shrugs goodnaturedly.

"Wow, you're pretty dedicated, huh?"

"Just trying to get my name out there," he says, looking a tad bit uncomfortable. "I guess I should get out of your hair."

"No! You can stay. We can play your CD. Right, Bakugo?" Kirishima hastens around the counter and puts his apron on quickly. It's lopsided and inside out, the logo's stitching facing outward. Katsuki gives him a judgemental look. Kirishima ignores him and starts shuffling through all the crap in the cabinet below. Katsuki shakes his head and mutters under his breath.

"_Desperate. Disaster. Gay,"_ he says, emphasizing each word.

Kirishima looks wide-eyed at Katsuki when he finds the CD and hisses, "Shut up. Don't ruin this for me."

"Fix your apron, dumbass."

Kirishima goes to the back of the store where the sound system is, and in no time a banjo is twanging softly through the speakers.

"You put vanilla in this?" Deku says from his chair. Kirishima still isn't back, and he hopes he's doing his job somewhere in the store while he works through his crush. Katsuki gives him the evil eye.

"That's what you wanted, ain't it?"

"Yeah, I'm just surprised you remembered." Deku gives him a tentative smile that Katsuki blatantly ignores.

"Whatever."

Deku goes back to his book and Katsuki goes back to doing inventory. He's annoyed that the music lilting through the speakers isn't terrible. It's entirely composed of string instruments, all blending together to create a powerful beat. He recognizes Deku's voice from Open Mic Night, and the absence of the harmonica is a godsend.

"There's no way this is just you playing," Katsuki blurts out while he's cleaning the espresso machine.

"Huh?" Deku looks up from his book, a bit dazed.

"This is like three different instruments," he says, instead of asking him if the rest of his band is as annoying as he is.

"Six, actually."

"Jesus, how big is the band you're in?" Katsuki can't imagine spending time with that many people, or that many loud instruments.

"I'm a one-man band."

"_You_ play six instruments?"

"Seven, if you count the harmonica," he says, smiling and chewing on that pen again. _Disgusting habit._

"I don't," he deadpans.

"Six, then."

"I don't believe you."

"That's alright. Not like you're in a position to offer me a record deal."

Katsuki grunts, annoyed by his attitude and his easy smile.

"So… do you like it?"

"Fuck, no."

Deku has the audacity to laugh at him. "Yeah, alright."

Kirishima comes back, and Katsuki can tell by the coif of his spiked hair that he spent all his time away in the bathroom fixing his hair and _not_ unloading books. He sits down in the chair next to Deku and they talk about his music until the Monday night rush shuffles in and Kirishima has to actually do his job.

Katsuki doesn't care.


	2. I'm On Fire

**I'm on Fire - Town Mountain (originally performed by Bruce Springsteen)**

**Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen**

**—**

Another month comes to a close, and Open Mic Night is upon him again. Katsuki was having a great day before he stepped into the bookstore. The grades for the last exam were posted this morning and Katsuki _finally_ beat Yaoyorozu Momo, by not one, but _two_ percentage points. Not even the fact that she looked happy for him when he gloated about it could bring him down from his superiority-fueled high.

"Suck it, Ponytail! I win."

Momo smiles gracefully at him, and mimes bowing down to him from her seat behind him in the emptying lecture hall.

"I won't go easy on you next time, Bakugo."

"You looking down on me? You better not be going easy on me!" He speaks as his normal, piercing decibel, but there's no heat behind it. He likes Momo. She's the only one in their class who's smart enough to actually be in pre-med. Competing with her for the top spot is the highlight of his classes.

They walk out of the lecture hall together, discussing the questions they got wrong. Katsuki excuses himself to walk in the direction of the bookstore when Momo stops him.

"Wanna grab a beer or something next week? We can compare notes on the term paper. Or just hang, I guess. I need a break."

"Yeah, I guess. Which bar? I refuse to go to Murphy's."

"My girlfriend's band is playing at the Penny. They're pretty good."

Katsuki doesn't really give a shit about music, but Momo's nice and he doesn't really have anything else to do. So, he says yes, and he's feeling pretty good about it.

But it all comes crashing down when he shows up for his shift and stupid Deku is there, talking to Yagi. His boss is chronically nice, and he seems to be real chummy with Deku. He pays them little mind as he clocks in and falls in beside Kirishima behind the book counter.

"Bakugo! Just the man I wanted to see."

"God, why?"

"Tonight's the night!"

Katsuki ignores him. He genuinely doesn't want to know, and he refills the receipt paper in the register because no one else will apparently.

"This is the part where you ask, _what's happening tonight, good, wonderful friend of mine?"_

Katsuki raises a dubious brow. He knows Kirishima will tell him eventually whether he wants to know or not.

"I'll pretend you said that. Wow, my wonderful, supportive coworker, I'm so glad you asked! Tonight's the night I man up and ask Midoriya out. Any advice?"

"Don't talk to him like you're in an after school special," he says.

"Hilarious." Kirishima pouts, still somehow pleasantly. Katsuki laughs and tries to pass it off as a grunt.

"Just do it, so I don't have to hear you and Ashido fight over him anymore."

"He's coming over here. How do I look?"

"Stupid," Katsuki says without sparing a glance in his direction. Kirishima punches his arm, and Katsuki can admit he probably deserved that.

"Hi," Deku says, a bright smile on his dumb, freckled face and an oddly shaped guitar case on his back. "Your boss is so nice! He agreed to stock my CD."

"No one buys CDs anymore," Katsuki grumbles. Deku's smile falters, briefly, before he puts it back in place. Katsuki looks to Kirishima for some kind of signal to make himself scarce, but he's frozen, staring at Deku like a deer in headlights, or the roadkill that's left after it gets hit. Katsuki looks back at Deku and decides to be a good person and give Kirishima the time he needs to reboot.

"Are you performing tonight?" He asks, grudgingly, still looking at Kirishima every now and then, willing him to jump in any time.

"Yep, first slot. Is Kirishima okay?"

is still not working, mouth hanging agape, so Katsuki ignores the question.

"If you even think about breathing within ten feet of a harmonica, there will be a murder."

"My murder or someone else's?"

Katsuki shrugs and Deku laughs. Kirishima continues his impression of a surprised mime.

"No harmonica tonight. Just me and my banjo," he says lovingly. "I may convert you to my cause with this song."

"Something about the way you said _me and my banjo_ has me thinking otherwise." Katsuki is fed up with waiting for Kirishima to come back to earth, so he punches him in the arm. Kirishima's soul finds its way back into his body.

"Good luck with your banjo," he blurts out, his voice cracking on the last word. Smooth as sandpaper.

"Thanks, Kirishima. I'm gonna set up. Uh, see you later," Deku says, eyeing Kirishima for about a second before grinning at Katsuki. Deku's eyes—and smile—linger far too long on him. He grimaces until he leaves.

"Kirishima, what the fuck?"

"I froze. Oh, my god. I froze for the entire conversation. What year is it?"

Ashido materializes in front of the counter, probably sensing Kirishima's embarrassment the same way sharks can smell blood in the water.

"How'd it go, stud?"

By the way she's giggling, it's clear that she saw the whole thing. Kirishima's face goes as red as his garish hair and Katsuki _almost_ feels bad for him before he pushes the feeling away. Instead, he laughs at him like the mean-spirited bastard he is.

"I blew it!" He groans. "I had it all planned out."

"You blew it, and now it's my turn!" Ashido squeals.

"No! We have an _established rapport."_ He says, but he says it like he's not really sure what _established rapport_ means.

"Where are you learning all these new words?"

"My Intro to Fiction elective," he says brightly, momentarily distracted by his Deku-related blunder. "My professor thinks I have a lot of potential."

Katsuki regrets asking immediately. Luckily, or rather, unluckily, the regular stampede of hipsters invade the store.

"I'll get the coffee counter tonight," Katsuki says, more than happy to extricate himself from their conversation. Kirishima still looks less happy than usual, so Katsuki throws him a bone.

"Just ask him after he plays his stupid song. Chill the fuck out."

"There's the advice I could've used fifteen minutes ago!" Kirishima yells, pointing an accusatory finger at his retreating back.

_Hey there, girl, is your daddy home?_

_Did he go away and leave you all alone? Mhmm _

_I got a bad desire_

_Oh oh oh, I'm on fire_

_Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?_

_And can he do to you the things that I do? Oh no_

_I can take you higher_

_Oh oh oh, I'm on fire_

Deku's performance is decidedly less horrible than it was last month, but Katsuki's assuming that's because he didn't write it. He's playing a cover—a Bruce Springsteen cover, of all things—and Katsuki is personally offended by it. He spends the entirety of the performance with a pinched look on his face, and even dares to use the grinder during the last half, despite the disapproving look he got from Yagi, who's still there doing payroll in the back office. Did Deku think he could pass it off as his own?

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby_

_Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley_

_Through the middle of my skull_

_At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_

_And a freight train running through the middle of my head_

Katsuki watches the performance more than he'd care to admit. He sings with his eyes closed, which is annoying, but he has an okay smile. It's not hideous. He objectively has very nice teeth and probably a capable dentist. Katsuki can admit that when it's not aimed at him. His voice is suited to his sappy, soporific ballads.

_Only you can cool my desire_

_Oh oh oh, I'm on fire_

Katsuki waves Kirishima over while Deku does his awkward sign off, mentioning his social media handles and that his CD is now sold here. Kirishima looks too nervous again, and Katsuki just wants him to nut up and do the damn thing so it can all be over with. Deku seems too nice to say no anyway, so what's the worst that could happen?

"Make his dumb vanilla latte and have it ready when he comes over," he says, putting a to go cup in his hands.

"I've been trying to remember his order all night! How do you do that?"

"Serving coffee is my passion," Katsuki deadpans. Kirishima smiles at him, and Katsuki's had more than enough smiles aimed at him today so he does little more than scowl before he turns away to grab a package of tea bags on the upper shelf.

"Best wingman ever. What would I do without you?" Kirishima grabs Katsuki in a bear hug around the waist and lifts him off the ground. The tea bags go flying across the coffee counter, and Kirishima's giggling intensifies.

"Oi!" He snarls, smacking Kirishima's pointy, gel-hardened hair. "Fuck all the way off, Shitty H—!"

Someone clears their throat and both of them go silent, staring down the interloper.

"Midoriya!" Kirishima says—nearly screams, actually—and drops Katsuki on the sticky ground like a sack of hot garbage.

"Everything alright?" Deku asks, trying not to laugh, his mouth a little pucker and his shoulders shaking. Katsuki pops back up, itching to hurt something. He throws the nearest wet rag at Kirishima's head and turns to clean something with another wet rag. Ashido's always leaving them lying around.

"Everything is great! Here's your latte."

"Oh, you remembered. Awesome, thanks." Deku smiles again, and Katsuki looks away before it can land on him. Still, he feels it like a laser searing into the back of his neck.

"I liked your song. Your voice is beautiful."

Katsuki makes a gagging sound, and laughs at the horrified look Kirishima gives him. He shrugs.

"My bad. Found some spoiled milk," he says with zero infection in his voice. Kirishima laughs nervously, and starts to speak when Deku talks over him, his freckled cheeks dusted pink.

"So, what did _you_ think?"

Katsuki doesn't miss a beat. "That was a cover. It's cheating."

"Covers are _not_ cheating. I'm surprised, though. Never would've pegged you for a Springsteen fan."

"No one under forty is a Springsteen fan," he barks. _Unless, it's Hungry Heart. That song goes fucking hard._

Almost as if he's reading his mind, Deku says, "Unless it's Hungry Heart. That song has no business being that catchy."

Katsuki balks, his face feeling hot, angry to have anything in common with him, even if Deku doesn't know about it. Kirishima is back to staring idly at Deku, his eyes wide. Every now and then he looks at Katsuki the same way. When no one says anything else, Deku raises his cup a little.

"Thanks for the latte. See you around."

"Bye, Midoriya!" Kirishima says, dismissing him easily. He doesn't look the slightest bit upset that he didn't ask him out.

"Oh, my god," he says, in a way that makes Katsuki wary of wherever this conversation is going.

"What."

"He likes _you!"_

"That's unfortunate," he says, brushing him off.

"But you _love_ Hungry Heart! It's the only time I've ever seen you bob your head to a song. You have so much in common!"

Katsuki stares at Kirishima like he's trying to solve a complicated math problem, or translate a sentence in Russian.

"Ashido, code pink!" Kirishima hollers across the store, paying no mind to the girl onstage with an acoustic guitar.

"Code pink. What is code pink?" Ashido says, abandoning a customer in the stacks to rush toward them.

"Bakugo's blushing!"

"_Hah?" _Katsuki is _not_ blushing. This is just what happens when he's so pissed off his anger needs to leak out somehow.

"What! This almost never happens!" Ashido squeals and hops up on the counter.

"I'm not blushing," he grumbles.

"Yeah, and you weren't blushing that time you accidentally felt up that old lady either," Ashido says, picking at her cuticles.

"That happened one time and it was Kirishima's fucking fault!"

Kirishima once tripped him, and he fell face—and hands—first into an elderly woman's ample chest. She laughed the whole thing off and no one (except for Katsuki's pride) was hurt.

"Whoa, whoa, let's not point fingers now. _My _hands weren't the ones—"

"Shut up!" Katsuki bellows, well and truly red in face now because that was without a doubt the most embarrassing moment of his life and they _promised_ to never bring it up again. Fucking traitors.

Everyone in the shop, every patron and prospective performer, stares at him. If it weren't for Yagi's big, blonde head popping out of the back room to give him a stare of soul crushing disapproval, he would've viciously cursed out the whole lot of them and stormed out.

"I've never seen his ears that color, Kiri," Ashido whispers. "Let's all take a calming breath, and disperse."

Thankfully, they do just that, and Ashido takes over the coffee counter so Katsuki can decompress while restocking books, cursing the day stupid Deku walked into the shop. Later, when the shop is empty and Katsuki is sweeping the sitting area around the stage, Kirishima sidles up to him—once again neglecting his closing duties.

"I think you should ask him out," Kirishima says, mercilessly picking up the topic of Deku again.

"_You _were supposed to ask him out," Katsuki says, bone-tired. "You're the one who's weirdly obsessed with him."

"But he likes _you!_ That never happens!"

Katsuki's too tired to be pissed about the sleight, and he's not entirely wrong. Katsuki is perfectly happy being unlikable. He's perfectly happy focusing on school and work and _not _subjecting himself to shitty bluegrass music any more than necessary—even if Deku is, admittedly, not ugly.

"His voice is sexy. Makes you all tingly in your man parts, right?"

"Don't ever say shit like that to me again," he deadpans, keeping his eyes on the dust pile he's slowly building up.

"At least, if you start dating him, I still get to look at him." He sighs dreamily, folding himself into a chair.

"Christ. Go mop something, asshole."

"The thirst is real," Ashido says, dragging the mop bucket behind her and handing the dirty mop to Kirishima. "He's damn cute, though."

"I hate all of you."


	3. Wild Thing

**Wild Thing - The Troggs**

**I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At the Disco**

"Hey! Glad you made it," Momo says, from a sticky table in the corner of the bar. "They're set to go on at midnight."

Katsuki eyes the band setting up on the small raised platform that passes for a stage in the back of the bar. Katsuki refrains from saying that a band that starts playing at midnight probably isn't a good band because he remembered that Momo's girlfriend is in it. He'd rather not give Momo a reason to deck him, which is exactly what he'd do if anyone insulted his significant other—if he ever had one. He's an asshole, but he's not cruel. Insults are meant to go directly to the person Katsuki's talking to. Call it an honor code.

"Do they play here a lot?" Katsuki looks off in the direction of the band again, and he sees a girl with purple hair setting up a drum kit. She's got a pair of serious headphones around her neck—the kind that say, I don't care about much, but music is sacred. That must be her girlfriend. Momo catches his look and smiles.

"Yeah, they play here at least once a month. That's my girl, Jiro. Kaminari plays the guitar. Looks like the bassist is running late. Last time I watched them play, he accidentally electrocuted himself with an amp. They've never had so much applause." She points to each of them. Kaminari, the blonde with a black streak in his hair, trips over a stray cord and barely saves himself from falling on top of his guitar.

Katsuki snorted. "How the hell?"

Momo shrugs and sips on the last of her beer.

"No clue. His idiocy defies all logic."

He likes Momo because she can be just as cutting as he is, but it always surprises him. She looks so sweet, no one ever expects her to say something mean. A snake in the grass.

"I'm gonna get a beer. You need anything?"

"Another one, please. I'll get the round after," she says, daintily shaking her empty beer bottle. He nods and makes his way to the bar. It's slowly filling up, probably in anticipation of the band. It makes him feel a bit better about giving up his precious sleep to be here. If they have a following, they can't be that bad. He shoves past the unwashed masses. He hates being touched, especially by shitty strangers. He picks up bits and pieces of conversation about the band. He learns they're called Deep Dope.

"You here for Deep Dope?"

"I'm here solely for the bassist. I love it when he plays with them."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. What is it about musicians that turns everyone into a bunch of slobbering dogs? He orders two beers from a disinterested bartender, and the chatter around him keeps going.

"There he is! I wish they'd just make him part of the band already. He's way better than all the other bassists in their rotation."

"He's perfect for them. I don't see what the problem is."

"Musicians," someone says, and Katsuki can hear the disapproving eye roll without looking at them. The bartender puts his beers on the bar top and yells his total over the din. He puts a few bills on the wet wood grain of the bar and a few ones in the tip jar. He feels her pain. Servers have to stick together, and bartending seems exponentially worse than slinging coffee. At least the shop is quiet most of the time. He takes the beers and heads back to Momo's table, only to stop dead in his tracks when something green catches his eye by the stage.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters. What does he have to do to find a little peace? He's supposed to have a month-long reprieve from the little gremlin. He walks back to Momo in a huff and throws himself in a seat, his beer slamming on the table.

"You good?"

"You didn't tell me this was a bluegrass band," he grumbles.

"It's not," she says, sounding confused. "It's rock. Mostly covers. What's your deal?"

"It's not?" Katsuki says, suddenly feeling a bit lighter. A few stray notes play out of the amps on stage, testing their sound. He can see Deku's smile all the way from here. He's laughing with the guitarist, and they do an obnoxious fist bump. Katsuki doesn't look too long. Momo gives him a funny look, but she doesn't say anything because Kaminari starts talking into the mic.

"Hey, folks. Thanks for coming out. We're Deep Dope, with some extra help from one Midoriya Izuku, and we're here to fuckin' rock."

Katsuki can see Jiro rolling her eyes while she gets comfortable behind the drum set, and Katsuki can't help but agree with her assessment of Kaminari's opening remarks. His eyes go unwillingly to Deku again, and he can see him laughing at Kaminari too, but he waves at the crowd genially, his bass hanging from the strap around his neck.

They collectively take a minute to center themselves, to sync up. Jiro bangs her drumsticks together, counting off, and Kaminari plays a familiar chord progression with Deku backing him up on the bass. This is the third instrument he's seen him play, and if Katsuki were a lesser man, he might be impressed by his musical proficiency. Katsuki's sure that if he gave a shit, he could play all those instruments too. Kaminari's voice flows into the mic and out of the speakers, and he and Deku bob along and bang their heads in a discordant way that still manages to look cohesive.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

You make everything groovy, wild thing

Wild thing, I think I love you

But I wanna know for sure

Come on and hold me tight

I love you

Deku sings backup vocals, rasping and grating pleasantly, and it adds something special to Kaminari's voice. Without Deku, Kaminari's vocals are average at best. Katsuki takes a deep swig of his beer, just to have a reason to look away from the stage when he tips his head back. Momo bumps his shoulder after he swallows.

"Wanna move closer to the stage?"

"No," he says reflexively, and takes another sip from his bottle. Momo rolls her eyes at him and shoved him out of his chair. When he's standing, she tries to push him toward the stage, but he plants his feet firmly, leaning back into her hands. He nearly falls when she stops pushing him. He barely saves himself from an embarrassing fall, and before he can fully collect himself Momo grabs his wrist in a tight grip and drags him through the crowd of drunk bar goers until they're in the middle of the crowd, surrounded on all sides. Katsuki has a clear view of everything, and when Deku takes the lead vocals Katsuki finds it even harder not to look at him.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

You make everything groovy, wild thing

Wild thing, I think you move me

But I wanna know for sure

Deku is wearing a loose white tank top that says sweater on the chest, written sloppily with a permanent marker. It shows off a hidden tattoo on his surprisingly toned bicep that's immediately seared into Katsuki's mind. He has a red flannel tied around his slim waist, and the fabric swishes around him while he moves around the stage. Katsuki can't stop looking at his muscular thighs and the tight denim stretched across them as he stomps around in his combat boots.

Come on and hold me tight

You move me

Deku's voice is so gruff and unapologetically horny that Katsuki feels like he's been punched in the sternum and all the breath has been knocked out of him. He unwittingly thinks of what Kirishima said to him last week. Makes you feel all tingly in your man parts, right?

Katsuki shakes his head to rid himself of the unwelcome thought. He's on fire, packed in with all the sweaty bodies around him. He downs the rest of his beer, desperate to cool down. Thankfully, Deku reverts back to singing backup, and it gets easier to look at him.

"You alright?" Momo yells over the booming sound of Jiro's drums. "You look kinda sick… or constipated."

Katsuki grimaces. "It's fucking hot in here."

"Need another beer?" The questions seems like more of a formality because she's already grabbing his empty bottle and squeezing through the crowd, essentially leaving Katsuki out at sea to drown. He's not drunk enough for this.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

You make everything groovy, wild thing

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

Momo comes back and puts a beer in his hand. He mutters his thanks without ever taking his eyes off Deku. Katsuki feels gross and dirty and he attributes it to the fact that there are multiple people touching him, and his shoes are sticking to the booze soaked ground. The music winds down and Katsuki feels like a spell breaking, blinking stupidly up at the stage. His head feels empty and sips on his beer, in search of the light feeling of being tipsy in hopes of chasing away the odd pit in his stomach.

"They're pretty good, right?" Momo asks, a proud smile on her pretty face. She whoops loudly, bringing a palm up to cup around her mouth. Jiro seems to have found Momo in the crowd because she stands up and blows a kiss in her direction. Momo catches it and mines pressing it to her face. Katsuki rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything. It's fun seeing this side of Momo. He prays to gods he doesn't believe in in hopes that Deku won't look in their direction. Deku speaks into the mic, and Katsuki's stomach drops out from under him.

"Thanks everyone! This next one is brought to you by teenage angst and…" He trails off, looking like he wants to say something else, but he can't figure out what. Kaminari helps him out, albeit ineffectually.

"And how much weddings suck."

"Yeah, that," Deku mutters, his brows furrowing in a way that some people might think is cute. Katsuki doesn't. Nope. No, sir. Jiro counts them off again and and the familiar sounds of I Write Sins Not Tragedies assault Katsuki's ears. The crowd goes fucking nuts, even though the cover doesn't sound exactly right. Katsuki assumes nostalgia is enough to carry them through a song that doesn't quite fit with their sound. At least Kaminari sings the lead and he doesn't feel compelled to stare at Deku. His voice sounds better suited to this song somehow, and Katsuki admits that even though he can't imagine Deku singing something like this, he wants to hear him try. He takes a deep breath, and decides he needs a break.

"Need anything from the bar?"

Momo looks a little drunk, her ponytail coming loose from all her head banging.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. I'll be back in a minute." Katsuki hastens away as fast as he can, even though all the people in the crowd seem to be determined to block his way. He downs the rest of his beer and abandons the bottle on the nearest flat surface before he walks out of the bar and into the cool fall air. His head feels clearer, and the sheen of sweat on his body makes him feel cold, but refreshed. He pulls out his phone and calls Ashido because this is clearly a night of doing things he never does. It rings twice before Ashido's screeching voice answers him.

"Bakugo? Why are you still awake?"

There's loud music playing in the background, and she screams over the thumping bass. She must be at a party, and if she's at a party, Kirishima's probably not too far away from her.

"He's awake? I thought grandpa hours started at seven!"

"Oi, fuck off, Kirishima! My sleep schedule is why I'm going to look twenty well into my forties and the two of you are going to look like wrinkly fucking prunes."

"Oh, no. Where are you on the Bakugo stress-meter."

"That's not a thing," Katsuki barks. "And can you step outside or something? Jesus Christ, how can you hear anything?"

"We can't!" Kirishima bellows over the line. Katsuki holds the phone away from his ear, feeling his blood pressure slowly tick up. Calling them was a mistake.

There's some shuffling on the other line and the sound of a door slamming. Thankfully, the music gets quieter.

"Okay, Baby Baku, what's the sitch?" Ashido sounds drunker now that she's speaking at a normal volume. The slur is unmistakable. Katsuki debates on whether or not to just hang up and walk home. He could tell Momo he got sick.

"Are you on a date? Is it with Midoriya?" Kirishima sounds excited—a drunk puppy.

"Fuck, no!" Katsuki screeches, losing his cool.

"Is this Midoriya-related?"

Katsuki's silent for a good thirty seconds, and Ashido does what she always does and runs with it.

"That's a yes. Where are you? What's he wearing?"

"Ashido, we agreed to cut back on the thirst and be supportive of Baku's crush."

"I don't have a crush!" Once again, Katsuki tells himself that calling them was a mistake—a nuclear fallout-level mistake.

"Your denial is endearing," Kirishima says, and Ashido adds, "And naive."

"He's wearing a tank top," Katsuki blurts. He's clearly lost his goddamn mind. He blames Deku. "It says sweater on it, and I hate him."

"Remember in middle school when you thought that substitute teacher was hot, and you wrote him a note that said get out of my school? This is just like that," Ashido says, and Katsuki wants to throw his phone into the street. He deeply regrets still hanging out with the same people he grew up with.

"Well, he left didn't he?" Katsuki says because he has no defense for childhood stupidity.

"He was a substitute!" Kirishima and Ashido say in unison, giggling like fools. "He was going to leave anyway!"

"This is stupid," Katsuki says, running a hand down his face in exasperation.

"Is he singing? Are you titillated?" Kirishima asks.

"I liked you better before you expanded your vocabulary," Katsuki grumbles. "I'm hanging up now and you've been incredibly unhelpful."

"Shoot your shot, my guy!"

"Go get your mans!"

Katsuki hands up, feeling even more keyed up than he did inside the bar. He sighs. And then he sighs again, just because breathing is helping him chill the fuck out. He shakes himself, psychs himself up, and goes the fuck back into the war zone.


	4. Old Number Seven

**Old Number Seven - The Devil Makes Three**

**Where is my MInd? - Pixies, cover performed by Trampled by Turtles**

**—**

Katsuki orders another beer and a shot before wading back into the center of the crowd. He's feeling fuzzy and floaty, two shakes away from drunk, and the swampy air in the bar is adding to that sensation. They're playing the tail end of some Top 40 rock song Katsuki vaguely recognizes.

"Everything alright?" Momo asks when he makes his way back to her. She's got a glass tumbler full of a fizzy, pink drink and she's looking increasingly more drunk, despite the concerned set of her eyes.

"Needed some air," he mutters around his bottle of beer before downing half of it.

"Do you not like the band?" Her face falls just a bit. Katsuki is no longer in the mood to be overtly pleasant—or at least as overtly pleasant has he ever is.

"I don't care for cover bands."

"The bassist usually plays some originals when the crowds a bit more sloshed!"

"If they're going by you, should be the right time."

She punches him in the shoulder, and it makes her drink spill a bit, adding another sticky layer to the dirty ground. She laughs, and Katsuki feels just drunk enough to laugh with her. It abruptly drops off when Deku speaks.

"Alright, this is a new one. If you like it, buy your sweetheart some _Old Number Seven, _alright?" Deku's voice is rougher than usual, with a twang he only affects when he's singing bluegrass. Katsuki rolls his eyes. Deku ditches his bass for a guitar and counts off. Kaminari starts strumming a simple chord progression. Deku bobs his head to the beat, and when he sings, something in Katsuki's stomach twists. It's unwelcome, but it happens. Katsuki does his best to ignore it.

_I guess I grew up on an old dirt road_

_Pedal to the metal always did what I was told_

_'Till I found out that my brand new clothes_

_Came secondhand from the rich kids next door_

_When I grew up fast I guess I grew up mean_

_There's a thousand things inside my head I wish I ain't seen_

_And now I just wander through a real bad dream_

_Feelin' like I'm coming apart at the seams_

Kaminari sings low backup vocals, mixing pleasantly with his band mate's voice. Jiro is on her phone, taking videos of the crowd. Like all of the songs Deku sings, he has no need for percussion instruments.

_Thank you Jack Daniel's Old Number Seven_

_Tennessee Whiskey got me drinking in heaven_

_Angels start to look good to me_

_They're gonna have to deport me to the fiery deep_

The chorus is simple, and after Deku sings it a few times, the people in the crowd start clapping along and drunkenly repeating the chorus with him. There's more than a few people ordering Jack Daniel's shots at the bar, but Katsuki stands resolute, staring at the green-haired musician.

_Thank you Jack Daniel's Old Number Seven_

_Tennessee Whiskey got me drinking in heaven_

_I know I can't stay here too long_

_'Cause I can't go a week without doin' wrong_

_Without doin' wrong_

This song isn't anything like the weepy, depressive songs Katsuki has heard during the Open Mic Nights, though it hints subtly at a drinking problem, like all his other songs. It's an anthem, catchy and easy to sing. It worms its way under everyone's skin and gets stuck there. Katsuki knows it'll probably be stuck in his head all night, no matter how much he tries to fight it.

_So I'm sitting as the bar stool it starts to grow roots_

_Feelin' like an old worn out pair of shoes_

_Tell me what is it that I should do_

_When I'm swimming in the liquor only half way through_

_So I'm watching as his wings spread as wide as could be_

_Come on now and wrap them around me_

_'Cause all I want to do now is fall to sleep_

_Come down here and lay next to me_

Katsuki hardly noticed Deku started to play his guitar, picking out a complicated tune amid Kaminari's steadfast chord progression, but he is, and it sounds rich and decadent and dirty all at once. Deku doesn't even look fazed by the complicated dance of his fingers along the strings and frets. This time when the chorus repeats, even more patrons are downing shots and slurring the words with him. Deku's captured every one of them—except for Katsuki, of course.

_Thank you Jack Daniel's Old Number Seven_

_Tennessee Whiskey got me drinking in heaven_

_Up here the bottle never runs dry_

_And you never wake up with those tears in your eyes_

_Thank you Jack Daniel's Old Number Seven_

_Tennessee Whiskey got me drinking in heaven_

_Angels start to look good to me_

_They're gonna have to deport me_

_To the fiery deeps, Old Number Seven_

_To the fiery deeps, Drinkin' in heaven_

The song ends, and Katsuki finds himself missing it. Somehow, between staring at Deku and fighting the infectious beat of the song, Katsuki ended up tapping his foot. He stops as soon as he notices it. A waitress appears on stage with not one, but seven shots of Jack Daniel's on a tray. Deku laughs and helps her pass them out to Kaminari and Jiro, and they down two each like good sports. Deku tries to hide the sour look on his face as he takes them, but he's not fooling Katsuki. The back end of a hiss is caught by the mic as he speaks into it.

"Thanks, sweetheart!" He takes the final shot, and can't help but shiver as he forces it down. His curls shake and Katsuki idly wonders if they're soft. They probably are. Katsuki imagines runnings his fingers through verdant curls and his hands getting stuck in the knots—and then he wants to punch himself in the face for thinking something so _lame._

"Alright, let's start playing before this whiskey hits," he says, laughing away from the mic. Katsuki knows last call is fast approaching, and they'll have to end their set. He wonders what they'll play next. Kaminari, with his stupid streaked hair, sips on a bottle of water and clears his throat in the mic.

"Alright, everyone this is our last song of the night. First, I wanna shout out Midoriya Izuku for helping round out our sound tonight. I promised him he could play his fiddle at least once, so here goes. Try not to heckle him too much!"

Even though Deku isn't speaking into the mic, he can faintly hear him screech, "Kaminari!"

They all laugh goodnaturedly, and the crowd follows in a collective half-hearted chuckle. Deku switches out his guitar for a fiddle—_how did he even lug so many instruments here?_—and the opening notes begin, Katsuki recognizes the song, though he's never heard it accompanied by a fiddle.

_Where Is My Mind? _plays throughout the room and when others recognize it too, they cheer, letting out little whoops of joy. It's a classic college band song. He doubts there's a single person in the room who doesn't know the words. It's sounds fucking good too, and Katsuki thinks it would only be better if Deku was singing the lead vocals, but he couldn't with a fiddle tucked beneath his chin.

"Fuck, I'm gay," he mutters, pissed at himself for having a cliche crush on a musician. Wasn't he supposed to go through this kind of thing when he was, like, thirteen and stupid? There's no way Katsuki, a grown ass man with a fully-formed prefrontal cortex, could be attracted to someone like Deku.

And yet, there he stands, thirsty as fuck. He vows then and there to _never_ speak of this night to Ashido and Kirishima. The teasing would be unimaginable.

"You're just now figuring that out?" Momo asks, and Katsuki wants to sink into the floorboards beneath him. He didn't think she was listening to him. Instead of answering, he sips his beer. She laughs and clinks her glass to his bottle, as if to say _cheers to same-sex attraction. _"So who's responsible for your gay awakening? Please, for my sanity, tell me it's not Kaminari."

"Kit Harrington from _Game of Thrones,_ actually," he says flippantly.

"Twins. Mine was Emilia Clark." She laughs again and sips from her straw. "So, you like Midoriya—the curly-haired fiddle player?"

Katsuki refuses to cop to that, so he shrugs.

"I can set you up," she offers. "I've met him a few times."

He shakes his head, almost frantically. Even if he wanted to shoot his shot—which he _didn't—_he didn't need any help with it.

"He comes to the shop a lot," he says, like it explains anything, or is at all relevant to the conversation. They stand in silence, letting the final song wash over them, and when it ends the chorus of clapping is near deafening in the small bar.

"That's it from us! Thanks, and be sure to check us out on Tweeter and Winstagram! We are Deep Dope. Have a good night."

"Wanna talk to him? I usually help them pack up."

Katsuki shakes his head, finishes his beer in one long chug. He's determined to hide from Deku and not feed the annoying attraction lingering in the pit of his stomach.

"Nah, I'm gonna head out. Thanks for tonight."

"Get home safe!" Momo pats him lightly on the shoulder as she wobbles past him, heading for the stage. Katsuki walks toward the exit in the opposite direction, shoving past drunk, sweaty bodies, feeling uncomfortably drunk and sweaty himself.

—

Later that night, far past his bedtime, he lays in bed, thinking of Deku. Because he's an idiot, he looks up Deep Dope on Winstagram, and finds the videos Jiro took while Deku played _Old Number Seven._

**deep_dope **_kickass crowd tonight __** thecopperpennybar**_ _! thanks for the shots of #oldnumberseven - check out __** greenhairbluegrass **__for more honky tonkin nonsense_

And underneath the caption, a comment from the green-haired idiot himself.

**greenhairbluegrass **_please hold while i legally change my name to honky tonkin nonsense_

Before Katsuki could even think about not clicking his username, he was already at Deku's Winstagram page and covering the _follow_ button with his finger. Once he's done silently seething about his lack of impulse control, he takes the time to look at his profile. His bio is simple. His name and age, and a short message: _alexa, define hootenanny._ Katsuki hates that he laughed out loud in his dark apartment. He scrolls through his recent photos because Katsuki is clearly suffering from some life altering psychological break.

It's full of video clips with Deku's head cut out of the frame as he plays one string instrument or another. He lets them pass by without listening to the audio until he finds one with an instrument he's not familiar with. It looks like a fancy ukulele, or a lute, and out of curiosity he unmutes the audio. It sounds… light, almost weak, as he picks out a twanging tune. He mutes the audio again when Deku starts to sing because he's had enough of that for one night. He stops on a picture, a rare one of Deku's face. He can see his guitar case on his back, and he can faintly make out the shop in the background.

**greenhairbluegrass **_come see me at plus ultra books at 8! #openmicnight #guitarist_

Katsuki's surprised to see it has over sixty likes and twenty comments. He doesn't really post on Winstagram, but his few posted pictures net about five likes each and no one (besides Ashido or Kirishima, but they don't count) has ever commented on them. He remembers all the bar patrons talking about the talented bassist at the show. He surprised that Deku has his own following, however small. It's… not unimpressive. He pinches the picture to zoom in on Deku's bright eyes while he shifts in bed, and is promptly horrified when he drops his phone on his face, and it results in a sore nose and a liked picture.

"Fuck," he hisses in the dark. The phrase _gay panic_ doesn't even begin to cover the swirl of emotions he feels. It's a potent cocktail of anger, embarrassment, and indecision. Should he unlike the picture? It's from almost two months ago, the first time he came into the shop, and the fact that it's the only picture of his face makes it all the more damning. He's going to look like a fucking stalker, or like he has a crush—which he doesn't.

Maybe he should unlike it, unfollow him, and block him for good measure.

Before he can decide what to do, the icon in the corner of his phone blips, and a red one appears over the DM button. He opens his messages, apprehensive and full of regret.

**greenhairbluegrass **_hi!_

"_Fuck," _he screeches out. He has an urge to throw his phone across the room and hide under his bedding. He ignores it, just like he ignores the message, closing out the app entirely before forcing himself to sleep.

—

When he wakes from his angry, peaceless sleep, the drama of last night feels just a bit farther away. Still, the after effects plague him. He has the beginnings of headache pricking behind his eyes. His throat feels dry, like he's got a mouthful of hair, and he instantly regrets drinking last night. He's not a drinker, the occasional beer here and there never makes him feel like _this._ This is all Deku's fault. The little gremlin drives him to drink through the power of song and suggestion. Speaking of, the little shit continued to message him after he signed off last night.

**greenhairbluegrass **_were you at the show tonight?_

**greenhairbluegrass** _id love to hear what you thought! i didnt get to play much of my own stuff… but its good publicity_

**greenhairbluegrass **_do you want to get coffee sometime? preferably not at a place where youre serving it?_

Katsuki groans, feeling the pinch of his headache become a steady thrumming pain in his temples. He's not dealing with this. He locks his phone and trudges off to shower off last night and all its horrors, and maybe eat a giant, greasy burrito from the dive down the street to combat the hangover that's slowly taking over his entire existence. Work is going to be a nightmare today.


	5. Alone

**Alone - Trampled by Turtles**

—

After eating a burrito roughly the size of a newborn, Katsuki opens the shop, feeling only marginally more himself than he did this morning. Sunday's are pretty slow, so he settles in for a quiet day—at least, until Kirishima shows up for his shift. Because Katsuki is a damn fool he plays Deku's CD—_only_ because Yagi left explicit instructions to play it at least once a day, and his crooning voice permeates the space. He feels so shitty that he actually sits in a chair for the first three hours, instead of unpacking books. Deku's voice kills him into some sense of half-waking calm, and he _hates_ it.

_You come into the world alone_

_And you go out of the world alone_

_But in between, there's you and me_

_Oh oh oh oh_

His headache eventually melts away and he feels like he might be ready to handle responding to Deku. He just doesn't know what he wants to say.

_The summer breezes blow so tall_

_And the winter nights are cold and so long_

_In between the falling leaves ooh_

_Oh oh oh oh_

Well, he can actually think of a great many things to say, but _yes, let's go get coffee and talk about your weird ukulele and how you rocked my fucking world without even looking at me _somehow seems wrong. His brain and his dick are not in unison for the first time in his life and he can't say he likes it. Logically, he can't fathom being interested in Deku and his stupid hobby, but everything below Katsuki's neck reacted so viscerally to Deku last night. He _wants_ him, and that's not something he's familiar or comfortable with.

_The days and nights are killing me_

_The light and dark are still in me_

_But there's and anchor on the beach_

_So let the wind blow hard_

_And bring a falling star ooh_

_Oh oh oh oh_

Ashido once called him frigid, and he argued with her about it, stomped around and threw a damn fit, but honestly… she was pretty much right on the money. His natural setting was somewhere between prudish and unfeeling. Until last night, he couldn't imagine anything or anyone being worth putting himself out there. He still couldn't fully imagine putting himself out there for Deku, but clearly Deku wouldn't mind if he did. He asked him on a date in a direct message. If that isn't thirst of the highest caliber, he doesn't know what is.

He groans and pulls out his phone. The little green dot by his handle tells him Deku's online, and that alone is enough to make him lock his phone again and seize up. He feels stuck and funky and like he needs to hit something.

"Man up," he mutters to himself in the quiet shop, gripping his phone. He unlocks his phone and reads Deku's messages again.

**greenhairbluegrass **_do you want to get coffee sometime? preferably not at a place where youre serving it?_

He takes a deep breath and thumbs a reply. It's not a _yes. _It's not even an answer. It's just the first thing that pops into his head.

**kingexplosionmurder **_you lied. you said you were a one-man band._

Katsuki isn't impressed by his response. He's so apprehensive about it that he puts his phone away and actually works to keep his mind off it. That is, until his phone pings. Katsuki is across the room in eight seconds flat, a trail of dust and dropped books left in his wake. He's so thankful the shop is empty and no one was around to witness Katsuki's embarrassing, world record toppling sprint.

**greenhairbluegrass **_i am! i just play with dd in exchange for help mixing my music. and some help on background vocals._

**kingexplosionmurder **_they played your song_

**greenhairbluegrass **_they did! did u like my song? :-)_

Katsuki grimaces at the weird smiley emoticon he sent, nose and all. Who still uses emoticons? And why does it feel like his stomach is doing a fucking gymnastics routine when he looks at it?

**kingexplosionmurder **_no_

**greenhairbluegrass **_is that a no to the song and to the coffee?_

**greenhairbluegrass **_or are we just not gonna to talk about that?_

**kingexplosionmurder **_shut up_

**greenhairbluegrass **_ok :-)_

**kingexplosionmurder **_stop doing that_

**greenhairbluegrass **_:-)_

**kingexplosionmurder **_i hate you_

**greenhairbluegrass **_;-)_

Katsuki's stomach flips again and he doesn't like it. The bell on the door jingles and Katsuki jumps a foot in the air and hides his phone behind his back, like a child getting caught doing something naughty, hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Kirishima, looking a hot damn, hungover mess stops in his tracks when he sees Katsuki's obviously tense posture.

"What are you doing?" Kirishima tries to raise an eyebrow, but he's either too hungover or too stupid to do it correctly.

"None of your fucking business," Katsuki hisses, narrowing his eyes.

"What are you hiding?" Kirishima looks like Katsuki's embarrassment has brought him back from the brink of death. He no longer looks like a hungover college student—he looks like a six year old in the midst of a wicked sugar high. He giggles, high and sharp, and Katsuki does what any normal, chemically-balanced person would do. He runs, phone clutched in hand like his life depends on it, and Kirishima sprints after him through the stacks.

"I'm too hungover for this, Bakugo!"

"Then leave me the fuck alone!" Katsuki knocks over a stack of books to thwart Kirishima with little regard for the fact that he'll probably be the one picking them up later. Kirishima goes down, slipping on an intimidatingly thick hardcover, but he brings Katsuki with him and his phone goes flying. Katsuki watches it clatter to the ground in slow motion. He feels like a victim in a horror movie, crawling toward his last chance at salvation with the villain clutching at his heels. Kirishima literally sits on him, and he's fucking huge so all Katsuki can do his grunt and try to wiggle free and lob colorful curses at him.

"Bro, why are you like this?"

"Fuck you," he screeches, desperately reaching for his phone. Kirishima plucks it from his line of sight easily, and Katsuki curses himself for never changing his password. Kirishima is still sitting cross-legged on his back, and Katsuki resists the urge to slam his head repeatedly into the carpeted flooring of the stacks in hopes of losing consciousness. He hears the little unlocking noise his phone makes, and dread pools in his gut.

"A winky face?" Kirishima squeals.

"_Stop."_

"He asked you out?"

"No!"

"And you haven't answered him yet?"

"I don't plan on answering him!"

Katsuki still can't see Kirishima with his face on the floor, but he can hear the tell-tale _blip, blip, blip_ of his phone typing.

"What are you saying? Stop!"

"I'm saying you're horny for banjos," Kirishima says, cackling. Katsuki can't take it. He's dizzy with embarrassment and sheer dread, face hot and undoubtedly scarlet. In a Herculean show of strength, Katsuki forces Kirishima off his back.

"Cease and desist, bitch!"

Kirishima flops over, knocking into a short stand-alone shelf, uttering a laugh and a short _oof_ when his head connects with the underside of a shelf. He's still got Katsuki's phone in his hand, and Katsuki can only imagine the damage he's doing. He snatches it away, a tad hysterically, and frantically scrolls through the Winstagram direct messages.

He didn't know it was possible to be relieved and horrified at the same time. Kirishima had only sent one message, but it was a fucking doozy in the right light.

**kingexplosionmurder **_text me._

And after that, seven little numbers he knew to be his own phone number.

"How the fuck do you know my number by heart?" Katsuki snaps. It's the only thing he has the mental capacity to note at the moment.

"You're literally my emergency contact. We're emergency bros!" Katsuki ponders for a moment, what happens when your emergency contact is the one that puts you in the hospital. Kirishima might find out.

"Disgusting."

"I'm actually hurt that you don't know mine." He pouts. Katsuki glares at him. His phone buzzes, and Katsuki's face goes up in flames because it can only be one person.

"Motherfucker," he hisses. He doesn't even bother to read the message. He quite literally gives up on existing at that moment. He drops his phone and lays down among the upended books on the floor. "I'm going to die now," he intones, closing his eyes.

"I can't believe you had the audacity to call _me_ a disaster gay. Look at you!"

"Don't say another word."

"Can't believe I had to chase you down. I think I'm going to puke."

"Serves you right."

"You'll thank me for this, eventually. He's too cute to pass up on."

Katsuki decides, right then, to just go with it. He's already embarrassed himself enough in front of Kirishima. There's no escaping Deku now, and it's hard to imagine wanting to when he remembers how he looked and sounded last night.

"You should've seen him last night," Katsuki says, flushing. "Fucking sex on legs."

—

Katsuki spent the rest of his shift on the floor, among the spilled books and the shards of his dignity as Kirishima pried morsels of information from Katsuki's reluctant grasp about the night before. When his shift ended, he left the mess for Kirishima to deal with, and flipped him off before heading home. He finally looks at the message Deku sent, and is immediately attacked by the swarm of bugs fluttering around in his stomach.

**Deku: **_hi :-)_

**Katsuki: **_so coffee_

**Deku: **_yws!_

**Deku: **_GES_

**Deku: **_agajakbsbe YES. sorry im dumb. how's mud house sound?_

**Katsuki: **_fine. I have class til 10 tomorrow so 10:30._

**Deku: **_yes sir! see you tomorrow :-D_


	6. Mountain Annie

**Mountain Annie - Fruition**

—

Katsuki's morning classes go by quickly. He'd like to say that he was a model student all morning, but that would make him a fucking liar. He's spent the last two hours trying to take notes and be engaged in the material, but all he has to show for it is a half empty page of messy notes he hardly remembers writing. He checks his watch for the fiftieth time that morning with a mix of anticipation and dread. It's ten AM, which means his class will let out in fifteen minute—which means he'll be on time for his meeting with Deku that is one hundred percent definitely not a date, and he refused to be convinced otherwise.

Momo's in this class with him, and she's been throwing furtive glances his way for the entire hour. She bumps his elbow, interrupting his blank stare at the lines of his notebook.

"Hah?" He tries to whisper, but it comes out just a bit too loud.

"You alright?"

"M'fine."

"You're distracted. I'll make a copy of my notes for you tonight. What's wrong?"

Katsuki looks into Momo's concerned grey eyes. He grapples with whether or not to say anything. He's not one to share his problems with people—he rarely has problems to share. He refuses to see a meeting, a damn cup of coffee, as a _problem. _He's not nervous and he's not excited and he's _fine._ When he says nothing, Momo narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Tell me after class, or no notes."

He rolls his eyes and checks his watch again. Eight more minutes.

—

Those eight minutes felt more like eight years but the second the class let out Katsuki was all but running away from Momo. It doesn't work. Before he can vacate the premises, Momo grabs a fistful of his collar and drags him back into his chair. The woman has an iron grip—he's too impressed by her strength to be embarrassed about being manhandled.

"Spill, Bakugo."

"Nothing to spill," he says, stubborn. "I've got places to be, so I'm just—"

The grip on his collar tightens, a warning.

"Don't be stupid. You want these notes, or not?"

Katsuki huffs and checks his watch again. _10:18._

"I'm… meeting someone."

"Like, a date?" Momo goes starry-eyed and she bounces in her seat, like a kid on Christmas. "So, you're nervous? That's so cute."

"Oi, I don't do cute or nervous!"

"Yeah, yeah. You're so tough. Quit stalling and tell me about it."

"It's _not_ a date, and I really have to go."

"I'll walk with you," she says, bubbly and bouncy. She didn't phrase it in a way he could refuse. He grumbles and hikes his backpack higher on his tense shoulders. He glances at his watch again. _10:20._

The only worse than actually going to this thing is being late. Tardiness is his biggest pet peeve and he'll be damned if his ass isn't in a chair promptly at 10:30, no matter how much the thought of sitting across from Deku ties his stomach in knots. They walk in silence until they reach the edge of campus. Mud House—truly the dumbest name for a coffee shop—is closeby, right in the middle of Main Street, nestled between a thrift store and an antique shop.

"So, who is he?" She smiles conspiratorially at him. It's pretty warm out for a fall day. Sun shining, birds singing, all that dumb shit. It's hardly warm enough for people to be out in shorts, playing frisbee out on the lawn, but there he is, dodging flying plastic disks. One flies directly at him and he catches it before it can smack him in the face. He grumpily tosses the damn thing behind him.

"It's that dumb musician from the show the other night."

Momo pauses, incredulous. "Kaminari?"

"The other dumb musician."

"Oh! Maybe I'll come in and say hi. You know, since it's not a date. Maybe I'll sit and hang with you guys."

"Fuck no," he screeches, face immediately engulfed in flames. Momo snickers at his outburst.

"God, it's too easy to rile you up."

"Shut up." He grunts again. He can see the green vinyl awning of the shop and his stomach feels like it's melted and it's trickling down into his shoes.

"You're going to be fine. Midoriya's great! I've only met him a few times, but he's always so sweet. And _cute, _even by my high lesbian standards."

"He's not cute!"

"And denial is just a river in Egypt," she says, rolling her eyes. She grabs his hand to keep him from his slow march to the coffee shop. It shouldn't feel like he's walking to the gallows, but it does. It's the long walk to something that will inevitably kill him.

"Don't be so nervous. And fix your shirt—it's all funky," she says, fiddling with his collar and straightening it out, as if she wasn't the one to fuck it up in the first place. She starts messing with his hair, and he's too uptight to let it happen. He slaps them away, and she laughs again. Katsuki's blood pressure is quickly skyrocketing and time is ticking down.

"I'm leaving now," he deadpans, leaving her on the edge of campus.

"Have fun on your date," she yells after him, giggling.

"It's not a date!" He flips her off before he crosses the street to Mud House, and he immediately sees bushy green hair in the window. The creepy crawlies in his stomach flutter around when he sees him, chewing of that damn pen, flipping pages in the beat up leather book. He briefly considers running away, only to be thwarted when Deku looks up from his book and they make eye contact through the glass. His eyes light up with recognition, a smile pulling on the corners of his mouth.

_Oh, no, he's cute._

There's an acrobat or a trapeze artist performing somewhere in his stomach—he's sure of it. He takes a deep breath and enters his own personal hell. Katsuki makes a beeline for the table Deku's sitting at, and throws himself gracelessly into the seat across from him.

"Hey!" Deku smiles at him, that stupid pen still halfway in his mouth, and Katsuki narrows his eyes, fighting the buzzing bees in his gut.

"This is _not_ a date, Deku" he blurts out, gripping the edge of the table. Deku laughs, it's short, cutting off almost as soon as it starts, but somehow it's still musical.

"I know. As a general rule, I try to avoid dates with guys who don't remember my name." He closes the book in his hand and sets it on the table. "Sets a bad precedent, don't you think?"

Katsuki finds himself disappointed for some idiotic reason he refuses to consider. He's doing his damndest not to appear like he's pouting.

"So, coffee," he says, like an idiot.

"Right! What would you like? It's on me."

"Hell, no. I'm paying for my own shit."

"Look, it's pretty obvious you don't want to be here, so just let me treat you," Deku says, not an ounce of self-deprecation in his tone. It annoys Katsuki that the dumb nerd thinks he knows anything about him.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to," he snarks, completely unaware of the fact that he just betrayed himself. Deku smiles again—he has too many smiles, and they all seem to mean different things, and they all punch Katsuki right in the kidneys.

"Okay," he says, grinning like an idiot. "Black coffee? Like your soul?"

"Fuck you."

"Jeez, at least buy me a pastry first."

Katsuki chokes on his own spit, and Deku laughs before heading for the coffee counter. He doesn't have enough mental energy to think about the fact that Deku is buying his coffee anyway, despite his protests, and that he guessed the way he takes his coffee in one go.

_Oh, no, he's funny._

Once his breathing is back to normal and his face feels slightly less hot, he noticed the leather book on the table. He wants to open it. It's probably full of whiny lyrics about drinking too much. His fingers rest on the worn binding, testing the waters. It wouldn't take much to just flip the cover open.

"What are you doing?"

Katsuki jumps in his seat, his hands flying back across the table, away from the book. Deku sits back in his chair and puts a cup of black coffee in front of Katsuki.

"You can look at it, if you want," he says, sipping lightly from his own cup. "They're just lyrics and ideas. I'd love to know what you think."

"Why the hell do you want to know what I think about your stupid music?"

"Because you're a tough critic. If I can convince you to like something, it's probably a hit!"

"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

"Maybe," he says, smiling around the lip of his mug. "But you're curious anyway, right?"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, sips from his mug, and takes the book in hand. He flips to a bookmarked page with sloppy writing on every surface, like his brain moved too fast for his pen to keep up. The title at the top of the page says _Mountain Annie? _And then next to it, in much smaller print, _different name?_

Katsuki takes in the words, reading them slowly and trying to work out some kind of rhythm based on the rhyme scheme. He fails—he's not musical, and it ends up sounding stilted and weird in his head.

_Well I went down to the train yard looking to forget you_

_And I laid my head down on the rail_

_Well these tracks they must run near you, 'cause I swear that I could hear you, singing_

_And I wish I couldn't say, since you been away_

_Well I don't feel like I know myself_

_Yes and when I get to thinkin 'bout it, it just turns to drinkin 'bout it, over and over again_

"Are you an alcoholic?" Katsuki asks the question just as Deku is sipping his coffee. He chokes on, liquid splashing over the edge of his cup as he tries to breathe again. He wipes his mouth, coughing into the napkin.

"Excuse me?"

"Is this some cry for help? Because I'm really not the guy to ask," he says, grimacing at the splotches of coffee on the front of Deku's yellow hoodie.

"Not even a little. I don't drink much."

"Why are all your songs about drinking? And dying?"

"I don't know. Pain is relatable, I guess. Much more relatable that happiness."

"You are a very sad individual," Katsuki deadpans. He can't stop staring at the ruined front of his hoodie, and Deku notices. He unzips the hoodie and shrugs it off his shoulders, revealing a simple white T-shirt and muscled forearms. His tattoo peeks out of his sleeve and the sight of it goes straight to Katsuki's crotch. He shifts, suddenly warm and uncomfortable.

_Oh, no, he's hot._

"And you're a ray of sunshine," he says, smirking. Katsuki has no retort for that, and he's trying really hard not to look at Deku's borderline indecent arms, so he keeps reading the lyrics.

_Oh why, oh why, do I let myself cry, over you?_

_When I call out your name, you don't do the same, now do you?_

_Get out of my head, give me back my heart Mountain Annie_

The lyrics are simple and he admits it'd probably sound good accompanied by a catchy tune. He wants to hear it, for some reason. He looks at Deku's mouth, briefly, remembering what his voice did to him the other night. When Deku gives him a small smile, his eyes snap back to the book.

_Now in the flicker of a candle's flame, smoke that rises spells your name_

_And then it disappears_

_And my hearts grown tired of beatin, and my lips are tired of speakin, so I won't_

_And the sky must know, the way that these things go because it's raining like it's never gonna stop_

_And if this flood comes running through, Lord I hope I can float away from you and break these chains_

Katsuki closes the book when he finishes reading. He's not artistically inclined in any way and he's never cared much for things like music or poetry, so he really has nothing to say on the matter.

"So, what'd you think?" Deku asks, a hopeful tilt in his voice. In his periphery, Katsuki can see the muscles shifting under his skin as he leans forward.

"Who hurt you?" He asks blandly, rolling his eyes at all the sap on the page. Deku laughs lightly, gamely.

"A very pretty musician with a voice like velvet."

Katsuki didn't expect his rhetorical question to get a response, much less one so heartfelt.

"It's just words on a page. Not like there's anything impressive about that." Katsuki forces himself to make eye contact with Deku again. Deku looks unaffected by his words.

"Well, at least you didn't hate it."

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"I did. It's probably the nicest thing you've ever said in my presence. _Unimpressed _is hardly the worst thing you could say."

"You're delusional."

"And you're grumpy. Other than that, I know nothing about you. What's your major?"

"Biology. Pre-med track."

"Impressive. You must work really hard."

Katsuki preens at the praise, puffing his chest out. He feels himself relaxing just a bit.

"Top of my fucking class."

"Junior or senior?"

"Junior."

"Me, too," Deku says, pointedly sipping his coffee, presumably to give Katsuki a chance to do more than answer inane questions. Katsuki effectively blue screens and blurts out the first question he can think of.

"What's your major?"

Deku raises a dubious brow, and speaks slowly.

"Music." By his tone, _duh_ is meant to follow the simple word and Katsuki feels his hackles rise.

"Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know you weren't some shitty math major? It could happen," he barks. Deku laughs again, and Katsuki thinks, for a split second, he's sick of hearing it, but he knows he's a fucking liar.

"Fair enough," he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Katsuki spends the rest of their short non-date alternating between staring at Deku's smile and his tattoo, and kicking himself for emphasizing the fact that this wasn't a date at the beginning. Deku… really isn't that bad.


	7. Dark Days

**Dark Days - Punch Brothers**

—

After that day at the coffee shop, Deku didn't invite him out for anything, but he did occasionally come to the shop. Every time he did, Katsuki's stomach twisted up into his trachea, his blood pressure shot up, and his patience was rice paper thin.

One time, he made Deku's vanilla latte, and their hands brushed as he passed it off, and Katsuki made some excuse to get away from the coffee counter and spent the rest of his shift hiding in the stock room, trying to push away the hot, stifling feelings swirling inside him and muttering angrily about calloused hands and bright smiles.

Katsuki's growing crush on Deku was like coming home day after day to a mailbox full of junk mail. No matter how much Katsuki didn't want it, no matter how many times he sifted through his feelings and unceremoniously tossed them away, they just kept coming. The day he decided to stop fighting it, Deku asked him out again.

"Hi," Deku says, forgoing the pretense of sitting in a chair and pretending he wasn't in the shop just to bother Katsuki by going straight to the coffee counter. Katsuki nods in Deku's direction, but makes no effort to go to the counter.

"Finals week is coming up. You swamped?"

"Nothing I can't handle," he says primly. Truthfully, he's up to his eyeballs in study materials, essay due dates, and pamphlets about MCAT prep courses and practice tests. He isn't about to whine about it to Deku, though.

"Well, if you want to, I have a study room reserved in the library on Wednesday night. That's your day off, yeah?"

"Stalker," Katsuki mumbles, his heart in his throat. Deku rolls his eyes, but his smile is a bit more sure when he speaks again.

"So, you want to study together?"

"How does a music major even study? Sounds loud as fuck."

"I take other classes, you know. Non-musical classes."

"So, no instruments?"

"You're making this way harder than it needs to be, Kacchan."

That stupid nickname does horrifying things to Katsuki. He just started saying it one day—something about payback for calling him Deku. The first time it happened Katsuki blew a gasket and ignored his texts for a week, but the more Deku uses it, the more Katsuki finds he craves hearing it.

"Maybe," he says, and then concedes, just a little. "What time?"

"Six-thirty. I know baby Kacchan likes to be in bed by nine sharp." Deku gives him an especially bright, shit-eating grin.

"Fuck you" Katsuki grumbles, looking away, his cheeks hot.

"Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you're propositioning me," he says, cheery and chipper, making his escape before Katsuki can go ballistic. "See you Wednesday! I'll text you the room number. Bye, Kacchan!"

As soon as Deku leaves, Kirishima and Ashido pop out of nowhere from behind a bookshelf, grinning conspiratorially.

"What's this?" Kirishima sing-songs.

"Another date?" Ashido answers in the same tone, as if they practiced it. They probably did—those assholes will do anything to avoid working.

"No," he says hotly. "We're studying."

"A study date is still a date! Our prayers are answered!" Kirishima throws his hands up, praising the heavens.

"My crops are watered, my skin is clear, and _Kacchan _has a date!"

"Oh, fuck off!"

"The sexual tension is killing me. I swear the temperature goes up ten degrees every time you two look at each other," Ashido says, fanning herself dramatically. Katsuki can't disagree, so he said nothing.

—

"What are you working on?"

"Memorizing the definitions of words you probably can't even pronounce," he grumbles, writing neatly on another notecard.

Just because Deku isn't wailing on a harmonica doesn't mean he's quiet. He's a very _loud_ studier, and if Katsuki didn't think he was so damn cute, he would've left an hour ago.

"What are you working on that makes you fucking mutter like that?"

"Poetry final."

"Of course, you're in a poetry class." Katsuki rolls his eyes. Deku smiles slyly.

"Well, it's basically a song with all the rhyming. It helps me come up with some new material!"

Katsuki snatches his notebook away. It's not the leather book, but an actual college ruled, five subject notebook. The page is littered with wayward notes and squiggling doodles, crossed out typos and self-conscious, parenthetical questions. There's also a song—or poem, he guesses. He tries not to read it, but curiosity wins out.

_Mother, listen to my heart_

_Just as one beat ends, another starts_

_You can hear no matter where you are_

_Sister, hide our love away_

_From the evil we both know_

_It can see you through these dark days_

_Though they seem to darken as I go_

_Our love will see us through these dark, dark days sister_

_'Til it lights the way back home_

_Sister, hide our love away_

_It can turn the whole world upside down_

_Shake it 'til the sky falls to the ground_

_We don't have to reap the fear they sow_

_Friends, as long as we hide our love away_

_In the good they'll never know_

_It can see us through these dark days_

_Though they seem to darken as we go_

_Our love will see us through these dark, dark days sister_

_'Til it lights the way back home_

_Mother, listen to my heart_

_Just as one beat ends, another starts_

_You can hear no matter where you are_

"Typical, depressing bullshit," Katsuki mutters, pushing the notebook back his way. "I hope you at least type it up. It's messy as hell."

"It's not bullshit, Kacchan," he says, looking sad and serious. "This one's not bullshit."

Katsuki doesn't know what to say because he's never seen Deku act like this when Katsuki makes a scathing comment about his lyrics. The room feels almost awkward. His stumbling blunder of a question doesn't do much to alleviate the feeling.

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah. Adopted, but I was so young when she came to live with us I hardly remembered a time before she was there. Her name was Eri."

Katsuki notices the _was,_ and refuses to acknowledge it.

"Oh," he says. A deft response. Deku smiles, but it's about thirty degrees cooler than his usual surface of the sun smile. Katsuki tries again.

"Well, as long as it's not too out there, I'll listen to it when you turn it into a song."

"What's _out there _about my music?"

"What isn't _out there_ about playing _Where is My Mind?_ on a fiddle?"

"I think everyone could use a little more fiddle in their lives. It's jaunty. _And_ I saw you at the show. You didn't seem to hate it."

Katsuki scowls, trying to hide his embarrassed blush by turning back to his notecards. Thinking about Deku at that damn show, even after two months, still makes him sweat. Deku laughs, and decides to take pity on him.

"Let me see your notecards. I want to try to pronounce them."

Katsuki's thankful for the change of subject, and soon Deku reverts back to his thousand watt self. They agree to meet again next week.

—

"Hey," Deku says, and it sounds off, almost heavy. Katsuki grunts in his direction, not bothering to look up from his textbook because looking at Deku is dangerous. If he looks at him he'll lose his place, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to focus back on studying.

"Are we friends?"

"Hah? What kind of question is that?"

"I'm just wondering," he says, picking at the frayed edges of his notebook.

"You gonna write about it in your diary, or some shit?" Katsuki smirks, but if falls when Deku's shoulders slump a little.

"You know, I don't care if you're snarky and rude and borderline hostile. I think it's funny most of the time, but every now and then it'd be nice if you could say _hey, I like hanging out with you,_ just so I know where I stand."

"I like hanging out with you," he blurts out, partly because he doesn't like that little frown creasing Deku's lips and partly because it's true. It feels like he's admitting to something far more damning than a friendship, especially when Deku's smile breaks open, his cheeks just a bit pink.

"Thanks, _pal,"_ he says. "I can't wait to write about this in my journal!" He punches Katsuki in the arm, causing the careful, straight highlighted marks he was making in his textbook to wobble and streak across the page.

"Fucking _Deku!"_ Katsuki screeches. Deku giggles in the face of Katsuki's rage, and he shoves him out of his chair. They end up on the floor, howling with laughter until a work-study volunteer comes in and kicks them out of the study room for causing a disturbance.

"You're the worst study partner in the world."

"Yeah, yeah. _But_ you like hanging out with me."

Katsuki hates the fact that he can't help but smile. He hides it in his shoulder, turning his face away, so Deku won't see it.


	8. Blue Christmas

Finals week goes by in a slow, agonizing fashion. His test are challenging, but there's never been a challenge Katsuki hasn't risen to with great efficiency and success. He'd bet his next paycheck that he's getting all A's. One downside to being so fucking busy studying is that Deku was also busy studying. They've texted a bit, but Katsuki finds himself dissatisfied.

He's never once seen him on campus—the fine arts buildings and the science buildings were on opposite sides of the campus—but he still catches himself looking around for him, hoping to see a glimpse of stupid, green hair, so he can casually run into him.

And then, as soon as he's not thinking about him, he appears. When Deku comes into the shop for the first time in over a week, Katsuki's heart literally _flutters,_ and he's disgusted with himself, but he's also relieved to see him.

"Hey, stranger," Deku says, his voice warm and bright. It's a fucking icy, wintry hell outside, but Deku smiles and suddenly he's sweating like it's mid-August.

"Want your shitty latte?"

"Yeah, without the shit, please."

"Idiot." Katsuki rolls his eyes and gets to work. Deku gets comfortable in his regular chair. So comfortable that Katsuki brings him his drink and doesn't make him pay. Something is _very_ wrong with Katsuki. He quietly berates himself behind the counter for being a sappy, lovestruck idiot. Eventually, he gets his shit together—well, at least enough to speak again.

"You heading home for the holidays?"

Deku shakes his head and sips on his latte. He doesn't offer up an excuse as to why he's decided to hang around for the winter break, even though everything around campus is a veritable ghost town the second the last final exam lets out.

"Me neither," he says, instead of asking. Katsuki's never been good at showing interest, and showing his hand. Still, he thinks Deku can see through all that. He offers up his own explanation in hopes that it'll get Deku talking.

"My folks went on a cruise. Apparently, they don't love me enough to invite me. So, I'll be here, getting paid to be bored out of my mind."

"I'm sure they love you just enough to spare you the invite," he says knowingly.

"What are you trying to say?"

"That you'd probably turn them down if they asked."

He's right, but Katsuki argues just for the sake of it.

"Who says I wouldn't love to be stuck on a boat with my parents for two weeks?"

"Your general sense of annoyance about everything and everyone."

Katsuki smirks at that, but he turns his head so Deku won't see. Deku doesn't say anything else. He's got that book in his hands again, chewing on the end of his pen.

"Why aren't you going home?" Katsuki asks.

Deku stares at him for a minute, and Katsuki can't decide if it's because he's surprised he asked, or because he's trying to decide whether or not to tell him.

"My dad and I don't really get along," he says finally.

Katsuki has to resist an outraged cry of something like _how could someone not get along with you?_

"Wanna talk about it?"

Deku has the audacity to look at him like he's a science experiment, squinting, turning his head this way and that.

"Does Bakugo Katsuki have a sensitive twin I don't know about?"

"Fuck off."

Deku giggles, and they fall into a comfortable silence. It's only later, after Deku is gone and the shop has been closed, that he realizes Deku seamlessly avoided talking to him. The realization sits low in his stomach.

—

Days later, Katsuki scrolls through his Winstagram feed at work because he hasn't seen another human being since nine am and he's bored out of his mind. The shop is due to close early for Christmas Eve, but Katsuki doesn't really know what he'll do after he locks up. He pauses when he sees Deku's username and a new post.

** greenhairbluegrass **_merry christmas from me and my band #thegangsallhere #onemanshow #totallynotlonely #bluechristmas_

The picture is of him and all his instruments sitting on the floor of what he assumes is his living room. There are Christmas lights in the background and he's wearing a Santa hat that clashes horribly—but also, appropriately, given the time of year—with his hair. There's another picture in the post, so he swipes over to it, only to find a video of Deku and his banjo. Against his better judgement, he unmutes it.

_I'll have a blue Christmas without you_

_I'll be so blue just thinking about you_

_Decorations of red, on a green Christmas tree_

_Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me_

_And when those blue snowflakes start falling_

_That's when those blue memories start calling_

_You'll be doing alright, with your, your Christmas of white_

_But I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas_

It makes Katsuki feel like he's sweating. Too warm. So warm that it impairs his judgement. He puts down his phone, walks over to the section of journals in the shop, and picks out the most expensive leather bound journal he can find that also looks like it would suit Deku's needs. He buys the thing, and he's so frazzled he doesn't even remember to use his employee discount.

Before he can talk himself out of it he finds some wrapping paper left over from the Christmas event the shop hosted last year and wraps it up. All that's left to do is call him.

But if he calls he'll hear his voice—that beautiful, stupid, crooning voice—and he'll definitely chicken out, and then he'll be thirty bucks in the hole for no reason, and they'll both spend Christmas Eve on their respective couches, alone. So, maybe he'll just text. That's safe and innocuous and in no way going to unravel Katsuki.

**Katsuki:** _where do you live?_

**Deku: **_if you're planning on stalking me you're off to a horrible start_

**Katsuki: **_don't be an asshole_

There's a long span of time where Deku says nothing, and Katsuki wants bang his head on the counter for starting a conversation with the creepiest question in existence. And then, blessedly, his phone pings. It's a fucking Christmas miracle.

**Deku: **_corner of 3rd and main. Orange door._

Katsuki doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. He spends the remainder of his shift doing closing duties and pacing a hole in the floor. After he locks up, he damn near power walks to Deku's door, cutting what should be a ten minute walk down to something like five minutes. He bangs on the door, his freezing knuckles rapping impatiently. He only makes him wait about thirty seconds.

"Merry Christmas, Deku," he says self consciously. He shoves the festively wrapped gift into his hands, and considers running away. He considers moving to the other side of the country and changing his name because he doesn't do things like this for people, and it makes him so nervous he could faint.

And then Deku smiles at him. "You want to come in?"

There's no running from something like this.


	9. Roses Are Falling

**Roses are Falling - Orville Peck**

**Hope to Die - Orville Peck**

—

"This is only five instruments. Don't tell me you counted the harmonica," Katsuki says, surveying the instruments in the corner of his "music" room. His house is surprisingly large for a college rental house—especially for just him. What Katsuki assumed was his living room is actually just a room entirely for all his instruments and wires and musical doodads.

Deku rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. He hasn't stopped smiling since he opened his front door and allowed him inside.

Katsuki feels utterly insane. It's almost as if he blacked out, and doesn't remember the walk to Deku's house, and he just came to while sitting on his couch. Katsuki's not quite sure how or why he ended up on Deku's doorstep with a gift in his hand, but he can't say he regrets it. Especially when he smiles.

"I do count the harmonica. So, seven."

"Then why five little guitar thingies?"

"Because cellos are expensive and gigantic—and I'm not all that proficient. My ex was the cellist. I didn't really play it until we broke up."

Katsuki arches a brow at the mention of an ex. He remembers Deku's off-handed comment about a pretty musician at the coffee shop. He hates the mild blip of jealousy he feels.

"Okay, so what's the fancy ukulele called?" Katsuki asks, pointing to the odd string instrument he recognizes from one of Deku's Winstagram posts. It's mounted on the wall by a series of pegs.

Deku barks a laugh that turns into a long winded fit of giggles. Katsuki wants to be annoyed by it, but he grudgingly admits that it's really cute. Deku pushes himself up from his near-prone position on the couch. He wiggles around, trying to reach for the instrument without moving too much before giving up and hoisting himself up on his knees. Katsuki watches like the thirsty little shit he is, memorizing the lines of his torso, the curve of his thick thighs, the way his socked feet curl absently. Thankfully, Deku is oblivious to his blatant staring. He manages to pluck the fancy ukulele off its wall mount and it finds a home in his lap as he gets comfortable on the couch once again, taking up more than his fair share of cushions space. His feet get dangerously close to Katsuki's thigh, but stop short of touching him. He strums a few chords, his fingers picking out an absent tune.

"It's a mandolin. Though I did go through a ukulele phase in high school."

The random plinking sounds of plucking strings melt into something else, something more uniform, and Katsuki recognizes it as the chord progression of the song that's softly lilting from the sound bar on the other side of the room.

Back on the run, back to the blue

Winning is fun, losing is, too

Roses are fallin', rosses from fallin' for you

"Who is this?" Katsuki asks it grudgingly. He hates showing interest, but he likes the song, even if it sounds a little too country for his usual tastes. And… maybe showing interest in the things Deku cares about isn't the worst thing in the world.

The ache inside the hate

I found a way to sit and wait

And now i can't, your voice, your face

Without a trace, I'll wait for you

Roses are fallin' for you, you

Under your skin, over the moon

Don't let me in, i don't know what I'd do

Roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you

"Orville Peck. He's pretty cool, right? He's like a mysterious, punk rock cowboy with an old crooner's voice. Classic country meets indie rock, or something like that."

The excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and Katsuki fights the urge to smile and get lost in his bright eyes. Deku talks about music the way he talks about biological processes—in a serious, studied way that betrays utter fascination. Even if he doesn't care for music the way he does, Katsuki can respect that kind of borderline obsession. He wants Deku to keep rambling. He wants to be blinded from the heat of his smile and the shine in his eyes. Katsuki already feels like he's on fire.

You know darling, you bring out the worst in me

Sometimes, when I'm around you, i feel like pure evil

I guess they say nobody's perfect

But they've never met a devil like you

"How's he mysterious?"

Deku makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a hum and an a-ha! He gingerly places the mandolin against the wall, and pulls out his phone. He fiddled around for a short time, looking determined. The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips, and Katsuki feels the urge to fly across the couch and catch it between his teeth. He flushes at the thought.

Oh, roses are fallin' for you

Roses are fallin' for you

Roses are fallin' for you

Deku looks up and lightly tosses his phone across the couch. Katsuki's thankful for his superb reflexes, and the fact that he didn't fumble with it too much. Deku stares at him for a second, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Is it too hot in here for you? I can turn the heat down."

"Hah? M'fine," he barks, averting his eyes from Deku, hopefully hiding his flushed face in his shoulder.

"You're all red."

"That's just my face! Hurry up and tell me about this dumb cowboy."

Deku laughs, just a little, and Katsuki wants to melt into the floorboards. The song changes, but it's the same guy. The same crooning voice and sweeping melodies; songs about youth and love and life. He looks at the art for the album they're listening to—a black fringe mask against a stark red backdrop.

Gone was the way we were

Just like the days we'd burn

Everything 'round us would burn

Take me back to the time

I was yours and you were mine

Take me back, the words I'd say

I had to whisper

Because you liked it that way

"That's him. He covers his face all the time, and he doesn't say much about himself. I think that's cool."

"He looks dumb."

"But mysterious. You have to admit it's a bold look."

I'm still undone, not quite young

But I, I still try

Cross my heart, now I hope to die

Katsuki snorts, somehow good-naturedly. The phone in his hand gives a soft ping, and a text banner catches his eye.

Merry Christmas Izuku.

Katsuki awkwardly passes the phone back to its owner, feeling guilty for reading it.

"Your dad texted you."

Deku bites his lip, checks the text, and unceremoniously locks it without replying. He tosses the phone away and it gets lost somewhere between them. The song goes on, swelling into a heartfelt crescendo as Katsuki surveys the room. There are no Christmas decorations to be found, and it strikes him as odd. He would've pegged Deku for a person that celebrates everything with gusto. The lack of cheer doesn't fit with the kind, excitable person he knows him to be. He takes a breath, and then he takes the plunge.

"Deku," he says, uncharacteristically soft. "Why didn't you go home for break?"

Deku purses his lips, like he wants to keep his secrets from Katsuki, but there's a little flicker of something else in his eyes. Maybe that's what trust looks like because Deku speaks.

"My dad and I haven't really celebrated holidays since my mom and Eri died. It just doesn't feel right, and my dad and I never do well spending time with each other. It's easier to stay here."

He says it so plainly, as if he's reciting a script. As if he's so resigned to the way things are. That makes Katsuki hurt, his heart clenching in empathy.

"I'm sorry. How long ago?"

"I was fifteen. It—it wasn't really anyone's fault. Icy conditions and all that. A car slid on the highway and hit them, and their car went right over the divider. They were on their way to pick me up from vocal lessons."

Deku's eyes are shiny, but his voice holds strong. There's no wobble, no hitching breath. It's a wonder he's so composed. Katsuki, with little thought, puts a hand on Deku's ankle because it's the closest part of him. His skin is soft and warm under his palm, and it sends a thrill up his spine. There's a long, heavy silence, and they fill up by just staring at each other. Katsuki feels like he's going to combust, but then Deku smiles at him. Soft, warm Deku and his pretty, deep eyes.

Katsuki knows he's a goner.


	10. Half Moon Rising

**Half Moon Rising - Yonder Mountain String Band**

Katsuki wakes up to a foot in his ass, and a deep sense of confusion. He doesn't remember falling asleep on Deku's couch, doesn't remember Deku falling asleep on the other side of it; but when he falls off the couch when Deku kicks him, it all comes back with startling clarity.

They talked for hours the night before—about school, mostly, but he also told him about his job teaching guitar lessons and all the gigs he plays around town. He didn't talk about his family anymore, and Katsuki didn't press. Maybe in time that could come, but no one wants to spend a lonely holiday talking about their tragic past. He also never mentioned the mysterious, velvet voiced, cello playing ex, and Katsuki was glad for that. Katsuki talked about his friends and his classes and all the stress of preparing for next year's MCATs. It was nice. Katsuki didn't feel like he was drowning, trying not to show too much interest or playing at being cool. It just felt comfortable.

Deku stirs, stretching out on the couch, a pleased little groan leaving his mouth. He opens his eyes, and they're so expressive that Katsuki actually sees the moment he remembers last night. He sits up immediately.

"Oh, good morning, Kacchan. Why are you on the floor?"

"You kicked me, shithead!"

Deku smiles, like Katsuki called him a sweet pet name. He likes that about Deku—he never gets ruffled by Katsuki's swearing.

"Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, you too, nerd." Katsuki smirks, withholding a genuine smile. "So, what's there to do around here on Christmas?"

"Well, there's breakfast," Deku says, stretching one last time and standing up. Katsuki follows suit, pushing himself up from the ground. He wipes imaginary dust off his backside.

"Breakfast sounds good. I'll cook."

"Cook? I have cereal, Kacchan."

"You mean to tell me," Katsuki says, aggravated at the idea of eating anything other than a hot, homemade breakfast. "That you invited me here, and you have no food?"

"First of all, you invited yourself! Second, I'm a struggling musician and a college student. By definition, I have to live off cereal and ramen noodles! What did you expect?"

"Oh, my fucking god. Are you kidding me? Get a damn coat, we're going to the store and I'm going to make the best fucking breakfast you've ever had," Katsuki grumbles, oddly determined to provide for (and impress) his pathetic crush. Deku has the audacity to laugh at him, and the sounds goes straight to cheeks, turning them red.

"It's Christmas. Nothing's open. And it snowed last night!"

Deku opens the blinds on the nearest window, excitedly bouncing around at the prospect of the frozen hell outside. He looks like...well, like a kid on Christmas Day. Katsuki couldn't give less of a fuck about frozen water falling from the sky and worming its way into his socks, but Deku's enthusiasm is really something to behold.

"Wanna build a snowman?"

Katsuki's never actually built one, but how hard could it be? Maybe they could post a picture of it on Winstagram.

"Or ride our bikes around the halls?" Deku sings. Katsuki's face scrunches in confusion.

"The fuck?"

"It's from Frozen," Deku says, like he's supposed to know what that means. The silence stretches on and Deku's face steadily goes from slightly surprised to mild horror. "Have you not seen Frozen?"

"Never heard of it." Katsuki shrugs.

"Sit down. You're about to be educated."

Katsuki, as a rule, doesn't like to be told what to do, and often throws a petty fit and does the exact opposite of what he's told. If not for Deku's serious, borderline angry expression—and his clearly maddening crush—he might've put up a fight. Instead, he allows himself to be dragged to the living room and thrown into a seated position on the couch. Deku fiddles with a gaming console, setting up the TV to open up Disney+. Katsuki balks.

"Fuck, no! No fucking Disney Princess cartoons."

"Shut up, Kacchan. My house, my rules."

Once again, being told what to do by Deku prompts a very uncharacteristic response from Katsuki. The command sets a flock of fucking birds loose in his stomach—he feels fluttery, feathery, and light. This is ridiculous.

"Alright, sit back, relax, and be amazed! I'll go get breakfast."

Katsuki pouts, but keeps himself planted on the couch, resigned to his fate. By the time the first song of the movie starts, Deku comes back and nudges a bowl of cereal into his hands before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Katsuki is disheartened by the lack of proximity, but he'd never dream of moving closer to Deku.

He's reluctant to admit it, but the movie isn't terrible. The fact that Deku sings along with all the songs helps too. The music of Frozen is a far cry from his weepy bluegrass songs, but he still sings them perfectly. He wonders why he opts to sing songs like that when he's perfectly capable of singing more mainstream shit. He asks as much moments later.

"Why do you ask?"

"Seems like it'd be easier to find a band if you did more normal stuff."

"Normal," Deku repeats, and he almost sounds offended. He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Mainstream," he clarifies, hoping he hasn't actually offended him. He's still smiling, so maybe he hasn't totally fucked up. Deku groans.

"I hate that word. I bet you don't even listen to mainstream music." He puts air quotes around the word. He seems slightly worked up by the conversation. "I sing it because I like it! And I like my fiddle and all my other string instruments. It's a niche market, but so is the type of music you probably listen to."

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, slightly defensive, but mostly trying to flirt with the idiot. He grins.

"And what kind of music is that?"

"You look like you definitely went through a punk phase. Actually, you look like someone in the middle of a punk phase." He shrugs.

"Fuck off," Katsuki says, annoyed that he's right. Katsuki doesn't care about music much, but he likes it when people seem to be as angry as he is. Hence, punk.

"Was I right?" His shitty grin is so bright, Katsuki immediately flusters. He shoves his face because he hates it when he smiles at him. Or, he hates how much he likes it.

"No."

"Okay, Kacchan," he says, sarcastic and giggly while Katsuki pouts. They lapse back into silence, refocusing on the movie. Katsuki realizes that they've somehow managed to move closer to each other. Neither of them are stuck into the corners of the couch anymore, only a bit of cushion space between them. Katsuki wants to close the space between them, but he's terrified of doing something wrong and embarrassing himself. He's caught in that awkward in-between place. He wants more, but he doesn't want to compromise what he's already got. Instead, he asks another question.

"How'd you get started playing the fiddle?"

Katsuki's still staring at the movie, but he can feel it when Deku smiles at him. He can just barely see it in his periphery, but it warms him all the way through.

"I've been playing classical violin since I was six. Probably the only thing my dad's ever forced me to do that I'd thank him for."

"Six? Christ."

"I was good, too. First chair at every concert. The word prodigy was thrown around quite a bit." He tries to say it in a smug way, but his embarrassment is undeniable.

"So how does a concert violinist turn into a struggling bluegrass musician?"

"There was a festival in my hometown one summer. I was thirteen, I think. I saw Yonder Mountain String Band, and it was incredible. I'd never heard music like that. I liked playing classical, but it was a bit… stuffy, I guess. I went home that night and tried my damndest to replicate what that fiddle player did. It took me about a year to get it right, but by then I was already so obsessed with it I couldn't give it up." He looks so happy recalling the memory that all Katsuki can do is stare. He might be smiling just a bit, he's not sure.

"Then, I told my mom I wanted to sing, and she put me in vocal lessons the very next day. She was always really supportive. My dad wasn't. After her and Eri died, I just wanted as many distractions as I could find, so I learned all the other instruments."

For the life of him, Katsuki can't think of anything substantial to say. He's so goddamn taken with Deku, he's at a loss for words. The silence seems to embarrass him, a small flush high on his cheeks.

"That was probably too much information, right? Sorry."

Katsuki is quick to shake his head, almost frantically.

"No. It's cool. I mean, bluegrass is lame, but, you know."

"That was almost nice, Kacchan. Good job." He laughs, and Katsuki blushes like mad. The credits start to roll on the TV, and they both realize they've spent more than half the movie talking.

"Oh, no! You missed the best part!"

"Doubt it." He snorts. He'd much rather pay attention to Deku. Deku sighs, slightly defeated, but somehow contentedly. His mop of curls flop onto Katsuki's shoulder, and Katsuki is so startled by it he thinks his soul has left him. He sits stiffly, but allows Deku to loop his arm with his.

"Thanks for spending the holiday with me, Kacchan."

"Yeah, whatever. You owe me for that sorry excuse you call breakfast," he mumbles, gruff and awkward, but so pleased to be spending time with him, to be so close. Deku hums, and detaches himself from Katsuki's side.

"I can pay you in songs or sexual favors. Which would you prefer?"

"Oi!" Katsuki's stomach flips so viciously that all he can do is shove Deku off the couch to preserve some of his dignity. He laughs, literally rolling around on the ground where he fell. Katsuki wants to punch him… with his mouth. Katsuki pouts until Deku pulls himself together, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Songs it is, then."

He plays a Yonder Mountain String Band song on his banjo, and it stays stuck in Katsuki's head for at least two days.


	11. Passionfruit

"Hey, wanna do something _fun?"_

Deku leans on his arm, cheek pressed to his hands, on the coffee counter. Katsuki narrows his eyes at him in suspicion.

"What's your definition of fun?"

"Probably not the same as yours, but I won't take no for an answer!" Deku smiles and Katsuki has to look away. Purely for self-preservation, he refuses.

"No fucking way."

"Oh, come on! I'm, like, the only person in town!"

"And I _still _don't want to hang out with you. Imagine that."

"Kacchan, you wound me. Also, I already said I won't take no for an answer, so I'm kidnapping you as soon as you close up," he says, not looking wounded in the slightest.

"I'd like to see you try, nerd."

"That can be arranged, my angry, little friend."

"Oi! Nothing about me is _little."_

"Oh, my god, Kacchan. Stop propositioning me!" Deku screams, barely keeping himself from bursting into giggles, and the one customer in the store, an elderly woman, peeks over a bookshelf to spy on the scene. Katsuki blushes like mad, and the only thing he can think to do is lob the damp rag in his hand at Deku's head with extreme prejudice. It smacks him with a wet, flopping sound.

"Well, that's just rude," Deku grumbles, pulling the rag away and dropping it on the counter. For the first time since the conversation started, Deku looks unamused. "Now, you owe me."

Katsuki stares over his shoulder at Deku, before busying himself making his shitty latte. Silence falls over the nearly empty store, and it's comfortable. He loses himself in the familiar routine.

"Here. Now, I don't owe you shit."

Deku pouts, but he accepts his bribe, sulkily wandering over to his usual chair until closing time.

—

Katsuki turns the last light off in the store, and flips the sign on the door to _closed. _Deku stands dangerously close to him, like he's anticipating Katsuki's moves—like he knows Katsuki is going to take off down the street to escape him. Katsuki locks the front door and the second the deadbolt has turned with a satisfying _clink, _Deku slaps a handcuff around his wrist, and attaches the other cuff to his own.

"What the _fuck?"_

"This is a kidnapping, Kacchan. I warned you." Deku smiles at him, half sweet and half smug. It warms through Katsuki despite the strange circumstances and the late December chill.

"Why the hell do you have handcuffs?" Katsuki barks, angrily jangling his cuffed wrist.

"I'm friends with an amateur magician and he leaves his stuff in my car all the time," Deku says, not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

"You have a car?"

"That I do. I planned on driving you around in it, too. Unless, you _really_ don't want to hang out with me." His big, stupid, green eyes bore into him, and Katsuki knows he's a sucker for him. He rolls his eyes, infuriated for just a moment at how easily Deku gets to him.

"Not like I have anything else to do," he grumbles, and resigns himself to being dragged around by the wrist all night. Deku absolutely beams at Katsuki's lukewarm response.

"Perfect!" He clicks a small button on the cuff, and Katsuki's wrist springs free. Katsuki boggles at how easy it could've been to escape.

"I hate you," he mutters, but without any real heat. They both know it's an egregious lie, and Deku says as much.

"I don't believe you." His smile is warm and sweet, winning Katsuki over again and again. Deku starts forward without a word, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. Katsuki follows along until the lights on a rusty, blue Geo Metro blink at him.

"This is the ugliest car I've ever seen."

"Hush. She might hear you." Deku puts a finger to his lips, and then points to a sticker on the side of the car. Puzzlingly, it's an ear. Katsuki shakes his head, bemoaning his situation.

"You are so fucking weird, Deku."

The car is minuscule. The front seat is so tiny, Katsuki's nearly bent in half, his knees up around his ears. Deku ignores his discomfort, and—after a few tries, the stupid thing rumbles to life.

"Where the hell are you taking me?"

"Try to guess."

"There's nothing in this shit town. You gonna take me out to the middle of nowhere and murder me?"

Deku seems to make sure the car is moving at a fast enough pace that Katsuki can't bail out the car door.

"If I was, the cuffs would still be on. And I wouldn't have _these."_ He removes his hand from the manual gear shift just long enough to reach back and pat a pair of ostentatious, red roller skates. They look brand new, though the scuffed wheels prove they've seen some serious use.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Deku only smiles as the car ambles up the road, traveling farther to the edge of town, where only locals ever go. Campus life is so centralized that Katsuki never had a reason to go far, or to save for a car of his own. Kirishima has a car, but he only ever drives it when they all venture back home. He didn't even know roller rinks still existed, let alone that a roller rink lay not fifteen minutes off campus.

Katsuki tries to get out of the car with some grace, but he ends up feeling like he's exiting one of those clown cars at the circus, packed in with at least ten other performers. Deku throws his skates over his shoulder, looking every bit the picture of nonchalance.

"Ready?"

"No," he barks, eyes narrowed at his captor.

"Suit yourself," Deku says, shrugging. He tosses the keys to Katsuki, giving him an out. Testing him. As if Katsuki was really enough of an ass to steal his car and leave him stranded in the snow. Once again, he finds himself following behind Deku, cursing the day he walked into to Katsuki's life.

The inside of the rink is all but empty, save for an awkward, acne-faced teen at the register, an array of beat up skates on display behind him. Deku smiles at him, and before Katsuki can really process what's happening, his skates, and their time on the rink, is already paid for.

"Size?" The bored employee asks, staring listlessly at Katsuki. Katsuki begrudgingly answers, and takes the nasty, used set of skates. By the time he sits down to shove his feet in them, Deku's already got his own laced up. He lazily skates around on the painfully 90's carpet, neon squiggles and shapes set into a navy blue background. The lights reflect glossily on Deku's curls—blues, purples, pinks, and yellows. It's all very cheesy, but it's also… isn't. It's also serious, like maybe Deku tricked him into going on a date. Katsuki's never been on a date, as far as he knows. Aside from the coffee date, wherein he made it very clear that it wasn't a date.

"Ready, now?" Deku asks impatiently, bouncing around like a sugared up ten year old at his birthday party.

"Fuck no, but I'm here anyway."

"That's the spirit," Deku says, sarcastically. He holds a hand out to help him up, but Katsuki waves it away, partly because holding hands with Deku sends a frightened thrill up his spine, but also because he doesn't need help. He's never skated before, but how hard could it be? Deku does it, so Katsuki can, too.

—

Skating, as it turns out, is fucking difficult. Katsuki is _terrible. _He can't make himself let go of the wall, moving his legs back and forth in a futile attempt to move forward. He can't tell if Deku is showing off by skating graceful circles around him, but it's pissing Katsuki off. Finally, as Deku starts to skate backwards, his eyes on Katsuki's lack of progress, he snaps.

"This is fucking stupid."

"Want a quick lesson?"

"_No,"_ he barks. He watches Deku's easy movements, the way he pushes off on the little rubber circle on the front of his skates, the mesmerizing movement of his slaloming legs. Katsuki attempts to recreate it, pushing off the wall with confidence he doesn't feel. He ends up moving shakily to the center of the rink, doing his damndest to keep his balance, until his forward momentum peters out, and he's stranded under the obnoxious purple spotlight, the upbeat music blasting through the speakers mocking him. Deku continues skating circles around him, and Katsuki knows he's trying not to laugh.

"I could help you, you know," he sing-songs, spinning and sliding without a care in the world.

"How the fuck did you learn to do this?" Katsuki asks, standing stiffly, knees locked and arms out at his sides. He feels just as stupid as he probably looks.

"My sister. Once my dad realized she had no musical talent—seriously, she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket—she begged for ice skating lessons. It's not the same, but it's similar enough. She was great. A good teacher, too."

"This is torture," he admits, pissed that this skill won't come naturally the way everything else seems to come to him.

"Come here," Deku says, rolling to a stop a safe distance away from Katsuki. He's holding his hands out, like Katsuki is a stupid little kid. Katsuki crosses his arms, irritated, but stops as soon as it throws off his balance. For a moment he's flailing, and then Deku's hands are around his wrists, strong and steady. Deku's smile is patronizing, and Katsuki might've punched him if he didn't think that'd end with Katsuki flat on his ass.

"So, the basics. Bend your knees, and use the toe break to push _outward, _not straight back. You push down on the toe break to stop, too."

"I really, _really _hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, wallflower, bend your knees, and skate with me."

Katsuki mutters a few choice profanities under his breath, but obliges the green-haired menace in front of him. He does as Deku says, and finds some semblance of balance. Holding his hands proves to be incredibly distracting, so Katsuki does his best to ignore it.

"Why the hell did you bring me here, anyway?"

Deku thinks for a minute, still smiling, still skating backwards. Katsuki wonders, for just a moment, what else Deku is good at. What other weird talents does he possess? When will Katsuki have a chance to know him that well?

"I like it when we can hang out without a coffee counter between us," he says, and Katsuki barely notices that he's actually skating now, moving of his own free will. Deku lets go of him, and he has to stop himself from panic grabbing him again. Instead, he focuses on his movements, hell-bent on getting the hang of this. The next time they come here, Katsuki will be flawless.

He feels slightly more centered, the more he repeats his movements. He finds himself distracted by the way Deku nods along with the music, head lolling on his neck, curls bouncing, reflecting the discotheque lighting. He's mesmerizing.

The music changes to a familiar tune, and Deku's skating gets more complex, his skates effortlessly shuffling in something of a dance.

"Show off," Katsuki grumbles, but there's the beginnings of a smile on his face. Katsuki hopes Deku doesn't notice. He smirks, and Katsuki's stomach knots up, throwing him off-kilter again. To distract himself—and Deku—from his blunder, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I hate how catchy this song is," he says, just as the verse starts, a deep voice accompanying the bouncing melody.

_Listen_

_Seeing you got ritualistic_

_Cleansing my soul of addiction for now_

_'Cause I'm falling apart_

"You like it?" Deku asks, incredulous.

"Against my will."

_Passionate from miles away_

_Passive with the things you say_

_Passing up on my old ways_

_I can't blame you, no, no_

Deku laughs musically, the blue and purple lights reflecting in his eyes. He looks sheepish for a moment before skating just a bit closer to Katsuki.

"I wrote it," he admits, and it's no exaggeration to say that Katsuki's jaw damn near hits the floor.

"_Hah?"_ Katsuki wobbles on his skates, and Deku puts a reassuring hand out to steady him. Katsuki shakes him off lightly. "I can't imagine you writing a damn pop song."

"It wasn't a pop song when I wrote it. It was still just words on a page. This is my ex singing."

_Listen_

_Harder building trust from a distance_

_I think we should rule out commitment for now_

_'Cause we're falling apart_

_Leaving_

_You're just doing that to get even_

_Don't pick up the pieces, just leave it for now_

_They keep falling apart_

Katsuki remembers hearing this song blasting from ever pool deck, every bar, every radio station over the summer. It was like an infection, spreading sonically through the air, and nestling itself in his brain. He'd find himself humming it at the coffee counter, or between classes.

"You wrote the most popular song of the fucking summer?" Katsuki almost sounds angry about it. He never saw this coming. Deku is full of surprises.

He hates how much he likes the song, how soothing his stupid ex boyfriend's voice is. It's a break up song if he's ever heard one, and it just reaffirms how much Deku probably liked the guy—and how much Katsuki hates him. Unfounded jealousy stirs within him.

"How are you not fucking famous? This guy is, like, stupidly popular," Katsuki asks, and finds himself angry on Deku's behalf. Something shady must've happened. Deku makes a swooping circle around Katsuki, shrugging lightly.

"I got a song credit, and a royalties check, but I didn't want to be signed to that label." Deku's eyes look shinier than normal under the colored lights. He looks vaguely upset, but Katsuki keeps pressing.

"So this is how you afford a two bedroom rental by yourself?"

"That, and all the other songs on the album. They wanted Shoto, and I wanted out, so they cut me a deal."

"How the hell did you swing that?"

"I can be stubborn. And I knew they'd pay top dollar for a chance to twist him into something he's not." Deku looks hurt and sad as he says it. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about him. That's long over, and I'm sitting pretty on a pile of money."

Deku gives Katsuki an obvious once over, smiling at his feet.

"Look at you skating. I knew you could do it."

"'Course I could, idiot! I'm not a damn baby," he barks. Katsuki lets himself feel smug, now that he's in no danger of falling down.

"Uh-huh. Prove it, then. Catch me," Deku says, a glint in his eye.

"You challenging me, nerd?"

"Unless, you're too chicken."

Katsuki pushes off, ready to barrel into Deku and prove himself, but he's already halfway across the rink.

"Fucker!" He calls out, determined to match Deku's pace. He's practically flying, skating like some derby girl.

In the end, Deku seems to take pity on him, slowing slightly. Katsuki pretends not to notice, shooting straight at him without realizing that he barely knows how to stop. They collide, and Deku recovers easily, but Katsuki is back to flailing, arms windmilling, trying to find his center balance, and failing miserably.

"Toe break! Toe break!" Deku bellows, cracking up, but doing his best to reach for him. They go down in a tangle of limbs. Katsuki falls on his ass, laid out under Deku. He lets out a _oof, _doing his best to keep his weight off him.

His ex's voice is long gone, the song changed, some other Top 40 garbage playing in the background. The noise seems to fall away when he looks at Deku looking at him. It's a heated, heavy moment, horizontal as they are, and Katsuki's face goes up in flames, but he can't make himself move. He thinks, maybe, he might kiss Deku. It'd be easy to just lift his head, and meet in the middle. Deku looks like he might like that. Katsuki's hand moves of its own volition to take a stray curl and push it off his lovely freckled face to move it behind his ear. He feels it when Deku's breath catches.

"Um, it's closing time," an awkward, adolescent voice sounds over the loudspeaker, effectively breaking whatever moment might have transpired. They leave shortly after, driving home in heavy, through companionable silence.

When Katsuki's head hits the pillow that night, Deku is still skating around his mind.


End file.
